Tumgik
#how dare he be so fucking talent
yuujispinkhair · 3 months
Text
Hockey player! Sukuna headcanons
Inspired by this lovely ask by @subarusuguru. You made my head spin with the idea of hockey player Sukuna!! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me! I had to write a little something 💗
Pairing: Hockey player!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Word Count: 700 Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of injuries, but nothing bad. All characters are of age. Divider by @/benkeibear
Tumblr media
Hockey player!Sukuna, who is a devil on the ice. The rival teams always know they will have several injured players after each match against Sukuna. He has a very aggressive playstyle, and his speed and strength, combined with his quick mind, make him unstoppable.
Hockey player!Sukuna, whose maroon eyes always find you when he enters the ice. He winks at you and makes a kissy face, laughing when you blow him a kiss back. The whole hockey arena can know that you are his, and he is yours. And anyone who dares make a rude comment about him being so soft for his girl will receive a brutal body check that sends them facefirst onto the ice or into the boards.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who has a mad glint in his eyes during the whole match. He is ambitious and confident, and he always plays to win. He loves being an asshole and taunt his opponents, laughing when he can get under their skin with his snide comments. But no matter how much Sukuna riles them up, they still aren't able to stop him because he always puts his whole anger and strength into his game.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who is a completely different man when he goes on the ice with his princess. Treating you with so much care and being such a gentleman. He holds your hand to make sure you don't fall when he teaches you how to ice skate. And once he can see you are ready for the next step, he lets go of you and tells you to skate toward him to get a kiss.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who has so much fun when showing you how to play hockey. Your time on the ice is filled with playful fights and good-natured teasing comments that are so flirty that you get butterflies the whole time. His laugh sounds different too, happy and free, and he only uses his strength to pick you up and pin you against the boards so he can kiss you until you are breathless.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who grins that charming grin when he lets you score and praises you for being such a natural talent, even though you know you suck. Of course, Sukuna also has to show off a little in front of his girl, and he steals the puck from you easily, making you gasp at his speed and watch with wide eyes and a smitten expression on your face as your boyfriend skates across the ice and shoots the puck into the goal with so much force it almost rips the net.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who feels a proud buzz running through his veins anytime he sees you in his jersey. Somehow it drives him crazy to see you walking around with his last name on your back. It spurs him on to play even better and show you that he is worthy to be your man. Maybe he should buy a ring and give you his last name on your ID too, and not just on a jersey.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who loves to fuck you in the locker room after every match when his teammates have left. A victory fuck to celebrate when he is still pumped full of adrenaline and euphoria, pulling you onto his lap and bouncing you on his thick cock while groaning in your ear and telling you that it is all thanks to your love and support that makes him play so damn good. Or an angry fuck after a loss to make him feel ok again, lifting you up and slamming you against the shower wall, snapping his hips fast, fucking you hard and deep, growling your name when he cums in you and finds sweet relief in your warm cunt.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who can't stop smiling when you dote on him when he is injured after a rough match. He has a high pain tolerance and doesn't really worry all that much about the injuries, but he loves it when you take care of him and look at him with so much worry in your eyes. It makes him feel so warm, and so he happily plays along and lets you change his bandages, pet his hair, and cuddle him.
Hockey player!Sukuna, who loves to win, but who thinks his biggest victory was winning your heart.
Tumblr media
I am so in love with him!! Thank you so much for sending me that prompt!! I hope you liked my little headcanons ;)
Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗
8K notes · View notes
orchidyoonkook · 11 months
Note
YOON!
Would you be interested in submitting a joint lawsuit to one *checks notebook 🖊️* Min Yoongi?
Because the amount of emotional damage he has caused over the last few weeks is just unacceptable and he needs to be stopped 😩
-hoseokhasmyheartxx
STEPH!
Ah yes *riffles through far to many papers* I have that here too.
🖊 Min Yoongi, to be sued for physical and mental health damages 🖊
I personally, will also be needing physical recovery costs, and occupational funds to make up for lost work as his entire being has caused me to simply pass away and miss shifts.
A valiant joint effort sounds like it’s called for!
1 note · View note
Text
Wait what dis he mean kelsier requested it
0 notes
fiendishfables · 1 month
Note
Can I please request dom! Lucifer eating you out? I just know that man is very talented with his tongue
a/n: say less, really; short and sweet lovin' from Luci
warnings: nsfw, eating out, cursing, dom dom Luci
words: 676
additional notes: Thank you all so much for 110+ followers! It means the world to me that you guys enjoy my writing so much!
"Luxury of the King."
Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The white, silk sheets beneath you rustled softly. Gentle puffs of air left your lips, saliva coating their plush surface in a light layer. The familiar black dots began aligning along the edges of your vision. Chest rising and falling with erratic patterns; a light sheen of sweat adorning your brow, seeping lightly into your hairline. You felt and looked like the epitome of an absolute wreck.
And it was all because of the man who's head was currently buried between your legs.
Despite your clear state of overstimulation, he was a relentless predator. Well, his forked tongue, rather. It worked against and inside you, like you would be the last thing it ever got to taste. Flicking against you, tasting all of the sweet nectar you had to provide for him. He was determined to eat you dry.
"I-I'm sorry, darling. You just taste s-so...fuck...so damn good."
His mouth continued its assault against you, making sure to take his time and devour you all in the same set of actions.
If he could just stay in between your legs all hours of the day, oh how he could die a happy man. No worries or strife, just you splayed out for him, presenting yourself as a canvas for his tongue to travel. He gulped at the thought.
You truly were the best luxury a king like himself could have.
Lucifer knew he didn't deserve you. He always asked himself how he got so damn lucky with happening upon you, but he never got too curious upon questioning, nor greedy when it came to your services. This was enough to take him all the way to Heaven and back. What more could he possibly ask for, other than your lovely company?
He noticed how your hips were now beginning to move more, as if trying to get away from his relentless tongue. Just the thought of your sweet taste being abandoned from his warm, forked muscle made his pupils slit and eyes narrow. In response, he placed a gentle yet authoritative hand on your lower tummy, pushing your trembling hips downwards to the mattress; that's where they were to stay until he was done with you. You were a gift from Heaven he was sure, and Hell be damned if he didn't savor it. Just thinking that seemed like madness. Lucifer wanted to taste everything you had to offer him. Every. Single. Thing.
"Stay still. Don't you dare try to move away from me." He growled, voice dropping much lower than its normal octave, causing you to flinch in surprise. His head had come up and out from between your legs, almost enticing a whine from your throat at the loss of stimulation, yet a sigh of relief at the same time for the smidgen of a break you were currently being blessed with.
The sudden change in his attitude was a bit of a surprise, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't hot as hell. The puppy dog side of your boyfriend was what you were most used to, so seeing him act this way instead was a very nice change of pace. You could never be scared of him; your safe word was always at your disposal if you felt he was being too demanding or rough, and he knew it too. So unless you used it, he would continue with his advances.
You looked at him through half-lidded eyes and offered the best nod you could manage with the state you were in, letting your head fall back to its original position on the fluffed pillows, lungs grasping for any sort of air they could muster up.
He gave a low nod back, a sly smile gracing his lips as he licked around them in order to clear off the remnants of your juices that he had yet a chance to devour like the other servings he managed to obtain.
"Good..." He said with a pointy smirk, before lowering his head once again to get right back to work.
1K notes · View notes
dior-and-dietcoke · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
" MOVIE NIGHT GONE RIGHT. "
starring! : mikey, draken, baji, kazutora, chifuyu
warnings! : 18+, consent checks, gangbang, praise kink, cuckold, cheating, exhibition, filming, sub!reader, oral, handjobs, pet names, readers skin color is not mentioned
a/n! : This is a part 2 to "movie night gone wrong"<3 (an abrupt end btw)
-> masterlist.
Tumblr media
The men in front of you stared at you in a trance, while mikey was walking past them to get his camera.
You arched your back sexily as you sat on mikey's bed with your legs spread and pussy exposed.
Their hot and feral stares made you want to close your legs for just a little bit of friction but, luckily you can just grind down on mikeys bed.
And so you did just that.
Making draken's eyebrow twitch while kazutora was about to drool all over himself.
Chifuyu was leaning over baji to get a better look at your pussy being pressed onto the bed.
You tilted your head as the tiniest gasp left your lungs. "So?..." You looked at the men individually, "You guys wanna be my starring roles this time?"
The men looked at mikey as he opened the camera up and smiled "If you're looking for my permission, go ahead." He clicked the cam on, and the red dot started blinking.
"She's waiting, and she gets whiny when she doesn't get what she wants"
Kazutora was the first to look at you again and spoke up after a big nervous gulp.
"..i-is this really okay?" He asked, reaching out to touch your smooth and beautiful legs.
He was so close to you now that he could smell your enchanting perfume that was dumbing him down even more, tora felt dizzy by your presence alone.
You looked down at your cute tora and lifted the leg that he was caressing onto the bed to expose your pussy even more to the men, kazutora almost passed out when he saw the glimmer of your already wet pussy.
A soft gasp from chifuyu was heard as he also laid eyes between your legs.
Draken was still trying to push his desire to shove his big fingers in your tiny tight pussy away but it was impossible to not think about it when your cunt is exposed infront of him, fuck he knows it's wrong but he thought many times about how pretty your pussy would be but his imagination was nothing to the real thing.
Kazutora got closer to you and looked up at you one last time as if to ask for your consent one more time, he looked so cute, quietly begging for your pussy.
You nodded softly, smiling down at the man "..go ahead" you whispered to him.
To which kazutora just softly grabbed your thighs and kissed them up, making you already gasp and moan. Chifuyu couldn't believe this was happening. he was stiff as a board, not daring to move a single muscle in case this was actually just a dream and he would wake up.
Kazutora looked at your clit when he kissed just next to your pussy, he swallowed the ocean of drool that was pooling in his mouth before he opened his mouth to place his tongue between the valley of your pussy lips, diving right in and tasting you like he hasn't eaten in months. Your hips twitched as you felt toras talented tongue threatening to push into you, but when he went up to suck on your pulsing clit you threw your head back with a loud and erotic moan.
Draken buried his head in his hands, trying to drown your pornographic moans out, but it was no use. He stood up and walked to the door. "i ca-...I can't fucking do this" he groaned, but your whine stopped him in his tracks "Kenny! P-please stay.." You held your hand out as you were now laying on the bed, looking at him with your lustful eyes as kazutoras' head was between your plush thighs.
"Please..I need you, please, kenny" you begged, grinding into kazutoras face, making him moan.
Draken bit his lip, trying hard not to give into your siren calls
"It's okay, ken-chin," mikey spoke up. "I won't tell her if you won't," he reassured draken, to which his heart pounded and sweat started to bead at his hairline.
"Fuck me.." he cursed under his breath before he stomped over to you while taking off his jacket "fuck it." He said sitting next to you, immediately grabbing your face to kiss you as roughly and feral as he could, you moaned into his mouth as you felt draken's tongue against your own, feeling his teeth brushing against your lips every once in a while.
Ken's brain and rational thinking just shut off when the taste of your sweet spit invaded his mouth, his cock was unbelievably hard, straining against his jeans. His hand found your pretty hair to pull at it and keep you on his lips.
Mikey grinned before biting down on his bottom lip, watching his best friend making out with you. You looked so pretty getting ravaged by his two friends, all messy and moaning, legs twitching, your body not knowing what to do.
Baji huffed and stood up before tying his hair back and taking his own jacket off, he looked at chifuyu "c'mon, you wanna stay a virgin and watch us fuck this pretty girl or do you want in?"
Chifuyu didn't really know what to do, honestly. But thankfully, the hungry kiss you, and draken shared, got stopped so you could look at the other two men, while draken began kissing and sucking at your neck "come here, fuyu..gimme a kiss yeah?" You smiled at him with lidded eyes.
You didn't have to ask him twice, no sir. He got up and stormed over to you, kneeling in front of the bed and immediately smashing his lips onto your already wet ones.
Meanwhile, baji got on the bed to lay next to you. Suddenly, he grabbed both sides of your blouse and ripped it off of you, gaining a shocked gasp from you. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart..I'll give you my jacket later, yeah?"
You moaned at bajis rare sweetness and shoved your tongue harder against chifuyus.
Baji looked at your exposed tits and hard nipples, you looked so sexy, so fucking hot. He grabbed your waist harshly as his head went down to lick up from your stomach to your nipple.
Your eyes rolled back at all the mouths and hands on you, Mikey captured the exact moment when your brain shut completely off.
Draken got up to suddenly flip you around, making you arch your back, kazutora was gasping at the loss of your pussy on his mouth, but then immediately sighed dreamily at the new view of your pussy and your ass. Wasting no time to put his hands back on your thighs and burying his face into your inviting and hot cunt.
Draken grabbed your face again as he kneeled in front of you on the bed, his belt already unbuckled and unzipped. Right now, he was pulling them down along with his boxers. Letting his hard and long cock jump out infront of your face, kazutora felt your pussy react on his tongue, to which he just kept his eyes closed and giggled.
"C'mon, baby, open up, yeah?" You complied immediately and opened your pretty lips and sticking your tongue out.
Draken immediately lightly slapped his cock against your tongue as he chuckled, you heard another zipper next to you and baji was now next to draken, also with his huge cock out, waiting for you to give it some attention.
"Can ya take two dicks at the same time?" Your shiny eyes looked up at the men, before you dumbly nodded with your mouth still wide open and tongue out.
You felt bajis cock twitch against your cheek "such a good girl for us.."
Your manicured hand went up to bajis cock to stroke his thick and hard length up and down, making him softly tilt his head back with a rough but quiet moan, bajis strong hand found the back of your head "is this okay?" He softly asked, to which you nodded enthusiastically
He then drew your attention back to draken, by turning your head to his cock.
You immediately let drakens tip slip back into your mouth with a loud grumble "fuck, you feel so good, princess..."
Mikey suddenly walked over to all of you to get a better shot of you sucking drakens cock, the way your pretty glossed over lips wrapped around drakens fat cock looked illegally sexy, your eyes looking up at him through your thick lashes. Eyes quietly begging for someone to finally fuck you, Mikey knew that look too well.
"Flip her over again, she wants to get fucked" the men perked up at mikey's request as you whimpered.
Baji's strong hands grabbed your waist to flip you around, being manhandled into multiple positions made you go dumb and let your pussy feel so empty, you needed one of them inside you, if not two.
Kazutora looked so lovestruck with your pussy juice and his own spit covering his mouth and chin, he gave your pussy one last kiss with a big "mwah".
You felt so exposed, having all the men just sitting around you with your pussy aching to cum and the men's hungry gazes, just ready to fuck your mind into the Astral plane.
But instead, they just stared down at you, chuckling when your hips began to twitch. "See how desperate she gets?"
Mikey chuckled, looking down at the camera displaying your pretty and teary eyes looking up at draken.
Baji then suddenly grabbed your face to make you look at him. "Pretty girl needs some cock to fill her up, hm?" His husky voice asked you while softly squeezing your cheeks.
You didn't even think before you nodded. your body just acted on impulse.
Obviously, all of the men wanted to be inside of your pretty pussy, but they aren't going to fight about it so baji just looked up at mikey, urging him to decide.
Mikey looked at draken. "Go on, kenchin" to which draken looked back down at you with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and a sly grin as his lidded eyes stared into your glossy ones.
He got up to place himself into position
"Hold on," mikey stopped draken. "She has two holes to fill." He grinned, making you sigh at the thought of having two cocks inside you for the first time.
"B-baji...please," you quietly begged, looking up at the dark-haired man who was more than ready to fuck you in the ass, it was always his favorite part to look at of you, aside from your pretty face, of course.
"Fuck, if you ask me like that.." he chuckled, draken softly put his hand on your waist to sit you up before letting baji help him to hold you up for them.
You put your arms around drakens, strong neck while you felt both his and bajis hands on your soft thighs, sinking their fingers into the plush flesh.
As you were face to face with draken and being so close, he mindlessly started kissing you again. With deep and horny grunts coming from him, his cock was prodding at your pussy.
Baji started kissing down the back of your neck to your shoulder, softly biting down into your flesh. You moaned into Ken's mouth when you felt bajis sexy sharp teeth in your shoulder.
Kazutora and chifuyu just sat on either side of you, just watching you getting kissed and teased by their friends. It was weirdly hot to chifuyu, just watching you.
"So pretty for us, princess.." baji whispered against your soft and messy hair before spitting into his hand to slowly stroke his aching cock, though he was good at hiding it, he was going feral. He could just ravage you immediately until all you can do is cry as you cum and cum and cum over and over again.
Draken's tongue sensually swirled around yours, and his lips were so soft but so firm against you. It was making you feel like you were drunk.
"Want us inside now, pretty girl?" Draken asked against your wet lips, slowly letting his hands run from your thighs to your soft ass. Making you moan softly before you nod.
Draken shook his head tutted at you. "verbal answer, honey.." he reminded you as his thumb was softly caressing your ass.
You put your head on drakens broad shoulder. "I want it so bad.." You then kissed his neck softly, "please.."
He was so weak in the knees that he almost fell over if baji wasn't also holding you, he sighed and looked over at baji "ya heard her," he began before letting baji tilt your head up so you were looking at the long haired man "let's give her what she wants" he said, voice deep and sending shivers down your spine straight to your pussy.
Seconds after baji said it, he was slowly sliding inside you, you found it cute how he was restraining himself. You could hear by his deep growls and moans that he'd rather be having you face first in the bed and him pounding you until you can't even stand afterwards.
A loud and deep moan erupted from his thick throat, "fuck.." he hissed through gritted teeth as his cock slid all the way into your tight asshole. "So fuckin' tight-fuck me..." he cursed
Kazutora grinned, "she's so tasty too, our pretty girl.." he hummed as he got up and took your hand to guide it towards his mouth to suck on your thumb, feeling your long nail on his tongue got his eyes rolling back and his hand inching inside his pants to slowly stroke his rock hard dick.
Your brows furrowed together as your pussy begged your attention as your ass was filled to the brim with bajis big dick.
"K-kenny-" his soft smile made you whimper and whine "I know, baby..I won't let either of us wait any longer, kay?" He said, giving you one last kiss before turning his attention to his cock being pressed against your most holy.
"Please, please, please.." you sighed and whined, baji grumbled behind you "fuck, just get inside her..I need to fuck her"
Draken just chuckled "fine, fine.."
His tip lined up with your pussy and his thick head slowly slid inside you "oh shit- I can feel you coming in" baji mentioned.
Your eyes rolled back as your head fell on bajis shoulder, you felt every single centimeter of their cocks inside you as draken bottomed out.
"F-fuck..oh shit..I've never felt anything like it-" draken groaned as sweat started so slide down from his temple, baji didn't want to wait any longer than he needed so he just suddenly started fucking into you at a feral pace, making you moan with your mouth wide open, letting chifuyu no other choice but to grab your face and kiss you as rough as he could, moaning into your mouth as nothing but the wet sounds of your two holes in a trance and toras wet cock making obscene noises filled your mind. It's like you were getting fucked into another dimension..
Your mind was blank as you already felt the coil in your stomach tightening, kazutora suddenly stopped sucking on your finger and just grabbed your tiddy to suck on your hard nipple, moaning around it. While chifuyu had his tongue down your throat, his kissing felt even more feral than bajis ferocious thrusting.
While you were getting fucked into oblivion mikey recorded every single movement, reaction and facial expression you made.
You are the star, you are the main focus.
Mikey could never concentrate on anyone else but you, anyone who met you could agree. Even draken, who has a girlfriend.
You are just enchanting, making every man lose his composure. No matter how strong they are.
You are a sex symbol, mikey's pretty little pornstar.
Your eyes suddenly rolled back as your nails dug into drakens back, and mikey knew you were gonna cum. "M-MIKEYY!!" you wailed as a strong wave of Stimulation and ecstasy wahed over your nerves and set your body on fire.
Hearing his little princess scream his name as you're getting fucked by other men let's him know that you're completely his.
Mind coded to think of him when you cum.
Completely his <3
1K notes · View notes
assassinsblade · 3 months
Text
Forget Me Not | 6
You are awaiting Azriel's return when chaos erupts.
WC: 6.4k
Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Violence, death, blood, angst, feelings, and dare I finally say some fluff?
a/n: There will be one more part!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7
-------------------------------------
Azriel never responded to your letter. You hadn't exactly expected him to, but you still couldn't help the pang of disappointment that settled in your gut when day after day went by in silence.
You hoped he was getting the healing he needed, the healing he deserved. The thought of your friend hurting because of your words had you itching to write another letter to him, but you knew to give him the time and space to map his feelings out. It would be better to say all you needed to in person anyway.
That didn't stop your heart from wandering each day though. You thought of his scarred hands and gentle touches. The way he had always been soft with you, as if he were nervous you would think him anything other than kind-hearted. The way his fingers would brush against the fabric of your shirt when passing by, letting you know he was there, letting you feel his presence, take in his scent, as he moved in your space.
You thought about the small smile he would give you during conversations both before and after the incident. The way his head would tip forward to show he was listening, the way his eyes twinkled with amusement at your storytelling, the curve of his lips as others laughed.
You thought of the times he had carried you to your room when you had fallen asleep on the couch, his comforting arms, his protective instinct as he locked your windows and pulled the covers over your chest and toes.
You thought of the heat that would rise to his cheeks when people would compliment him. The way the pink would dust his cheeks like a guide for your lipstick, his eyes averted and the subject quickly changed despite the passion he put into each and every one of his interests and talents.
You thought about his commitment and duty and strength. The way he held the weight of the entire court on his shoulders but still managed to make others laugh. The way he would suffer in silence, do the dirty work, but pretend like it was nothing to alleviate others' stress.
You thought about every bit of him, from the glow that surrounded his black hair against the backdrop of the sun to the way the grass curled around his feet, and you loved him with a fierceness that ached.
And you tried -- you tried so fucking hard -- to distract yourself from these thoughts in the days after you sent your letter.
You began training with Cassian again. He hadn't said anything despite how obvious your swollen and bloodshot eyes were, how your shoulders hung low with fatigue, the way your clothes were wrinkled against your thinning form.
He had given you kind eyes, though, and a soft smile that told you he was there should you need it. He often snuck bars of food into your training bag or left an "extra" tea out on the counter for you. You had even noticed him peeking his head into Azriel's room a few times at night to check on you, remaining quiet to not disturb your feigned sleep.
It wasn't until a week after Azriel had left that Cassian mentioned him again. You were strapping the weapons you had brought with you to training back in place when you felt his eyes on you. It was nearing eleven at night, and your entire body felt like it was going to fall to the floor underneath you. Your skin was slick with sweat, muscles burning, and your eyes felt (accurately) like your sleep had been fitful as of late.
Cassian was quiet until you finally met his eye and raised a brow, prompting him to break his silence. He nodded to the dagger strapped against your thigh. "I'm surprised Azriel has been letting you use that."
You looked at the dagger you had been using nightly when training, taking in its intimidating design and shrugging. "He didn't protest much. It's not Truthteller."
The dagger, in truth, had been helpful. Cassian not only helped you learn how to handle such a weapon better, but he did so in a safe space that allowed you to overcome any memories from that night surfacing. There were times when your movements and grip on the handle felt so similar to that cold moment in the alley, you would nearly throw the dagger from your hand in haste. But you were making progress, and those moments when blood tainted your vision were becoming few and far between.
Cassian continued moving throughout the space, putting equipment away and packing away his things. You could tell he was feigning being nonchalant from the way his hands fumbled and his eyes strayed away from your own.
"Truthteller isn't the only weapon Azriel has a special attachment to."
Your brows furrowed with confusion and curiosity. As much as you had come to care for Azriel, there were parts of his past he had always kept private. You knew some details regarding his history and what had made him into the male he was, but he rarely spoke to you about them.
He liked to portray the side of himself he could control, the side the victims of the Night Court did not get to see: his gentleness, his care for his family, his ability to bring joy to others. Never the past that haunts him or his actions that remind him of the evil in the world.
"Are you going to explain?" You decided on asking, mind already beginning to spin with thoughts of Azriel.
You were too tired for his vague comments, and really you just wanted to shower and curl back up in Azriel's bed. It was beginning to lose some of his scent and take on your own. You didn't know how low you would have to feel before you started digging through his closet and drawers for clothes of his wear and curl up in instead.
"Just-" he sighed, placing his towel in his bag. "That weapon holds a lot of weight to him. It's the one that was used against his brothers." His voice trailed off at the end with the secret.
His brothers. The males who had set fire to his hands. The males who had laughed as he screamed, who had treated him like a test subject, like less than an animal. The males who had enjoyed watching a young boy cry in pain, terror, fear, and confusion.
You swallowed back the horrid thoughts pushing their way into your mind. Flames licking up his scars, his hazel eyes drowning in tears. "He didn't tell me its history."
Cassian shrugged, turning to face you and crossing his arms over his chest. He was studying you. What for, you didn't know. "He just normally doesn't let that dagger out of his room. I've only ever seen it on him a few times."
Did Azriel give the weapon to you for the same reason he yielded it against his brothers? You remembered the placement of the dagger in your palms in his bedroom, the way the sharp edge faced his unguarded torso, as if he was standing at your mercy and vengeance, positioning his heart to be a target for your own pain.
Maybe he had seen your lashing out as inevitable, and he knew the very dagger he had used against his own brothers could also help you deal an angry blow in return. Did he know the dagger was going to be aimed at him eventually? Did he offer it, expecting that result?
You remembered the blood that fell from his bicep earlier this week.
"I noticed you've been sleeping in his room."
Cassian's voice was gentler this time as he interrupted your distracted thoughts, as if he was afraid his acknowledgement of what he had seen would spook you, cause you to shut down or leave. Instead, you just shifted your weight on your feet, trying to not look too embarrassed.
"Yeah. I don't know, it just seems to help. With the nightmares and stuff, I mean."
He continued to study you, and you felt yourself getting slightly uncomfortable and annoyed. He was obviously thinking something but was unwilling to say it, and you didn't exactly appreciate his quiet observations as if you were some sort of mystery or experiment to document hypotheses on.
"Just say it," you rolled your eyes.
"No."
"No?"
He gave you a half-smile, slinging his bag over his broad shoulder and taking a step toward the exit. "Some things aren't my place."
"Since when do you stay out of people's business, Cassian?" You scoffed.
"Since my brother-" He started, but suddenly his steps halted, body going rigid with tension. His eyes scanned the space rapidly, and within a moment his bag was dropped back onto the ground by his feet, and he was taking a step back toward you, eyes still tracking your dark surroundings.
Your breath hitched in your throat at his serious behavior. "Cassian, what is it?"
But he didn't respond. Instead, one of his hands reached for the knife on his belt, his other arm splaying out in front of you to get you to move back with him.
You followed his movements, stepping in tandem with him until you found yourself in the middle of the training ring once again. A breeze flowed up your arms and caressed the skin of your cheeks, causing shivers to run down your body and your hair to stand on edge.
Footsteps sounded from your right, and you whirled around in fear, gripping the dagger Azriel had given you with a tightness that hurt your knuckles. A shadowed figure was approaching, followed by four others. But you didn't have time to think of an approach before more footsteps sounded to your back and more appeared, their wings fading into the black sky behind them.
They were coming from all directions, all Illyrian males, all Illyrian warriors. Swords and shields glinted in the moonlight. Teeth sharp as they sneered.
"Cassian-" you whispered harshly.
"Gentlemen," Cassian interrupted, voice tight warning. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
There were about fifty of them, all nearly double your size. Illyrian males were already prone to being larger, all over six feet in height with intimidating wingspans and muscles, and for once you didn't feel safe around the form you so often associated with Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Your fingers trembled.
Cassian still told taller than all of them, the general a fierce presence surrounded by enemies. He looked determined, but he did not look scared.
One of the males stepped forward from the crowd.
"My son was one of the many who died in the war with Hybern. One of the many who died because of you. Because of your half-breed high lord and his past-time of playing house with bastards." He looked to his companions standing in the shadows. "You all come here and condemn our way of life, of training, of breeding, and then punish us on the battlefield. We're not fighting for you anymore. We're fighting for ourselves."
You felt like you were in a fever dream. You hadn't even been in Velaris for that long, had never been around during the war nor seen the aftermath of the choices made. But you knew of Cassian and Azriel's power in the Illyrian war camps. You knew how Rhys tried to ban wing clipping, how they all enforced treating the females equally and fair, how the males were discriminatory toward others and often rageful and violent.
You wanted no part of this.
"No one is forcing you to fight on the front line." Cassian responded, barely flinching at the man's short speech. He was completely and utterly still, gauging each movement around the two of you. He was a strategist, and you could sense the gears in his mind turning.
"Maybe we want to fight. Maybe we are here to demand our rights back. Our superiority."
Cassian's hands twitched, his siphons gleaming. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
His cold voice was nothing like the jovial male you had come to know. This was the Lord of Bloodshed ready to split the males in front of him in half, a warrior basking in the calm before blood would rain down around him.
"And why not?" The male laughed. "It is only you here. You and this pet. When we are done with you, we will go for that bastard shadowsinger. How do you think almighty Rhysand will feel about that? Both of his brothers put down like mutts? Think he will be willing to listen then?"
Rage swarmed in your veins, warming your skin until you felt your cheeks and ears turn red with heat. They would not touch you. They would not touch Cassian, and they sure as hell would not touch Azriel.
Cassian sighed, as if he were experiencing only a slight inconvenience. As if he had just been interrupted from a nap with a chore he couldn't put off any longer.
"Alright," is all he said, and then his strong arm was pushing you back and out of harms way, the harsh sound of weapons clashing ringing in your ears.
You spun quickly, trying to take in the chaotic space around you. Males were moving in all directions, and before you could think, you were throwing your dagger at the closest body you could find. The edge hacked into the center of his pale forehead, his body crumpling to the ground immediately.
Dodging another male grasping at you, you slid on your knees to collect your weapon, gathering up the fallen male's sword at the same time. It was heavy in your grip, but it was better than only having one weapon to arm yourself with.
"Come here, birdy." A voice cooed.
You vaguely registered red light flashing in the corner of your eye, the color flickering and absorbing in the sky. It lit up the armor of the Illyrians, and despite the pounding heart in your chest, despite not knowing if you would survive tonight, you found the sight beautiful.
You faced the male, his rotten teeth dirtying his smirk as he took you in. A few others joined him, forming a line in front of you. Raising the sword in your grasp, you held your chin up.
"Don't call me that."
They took their time observing you, as if you were a mouse in their game -- a treat they had hoped would be present at their meeting.
"Bad timing, girl. We don't have to hurt ya, though. Why don't you just come with us, yeah?"
The male to his left winked at you, and you felt your palms become damp with sweat. No, you would not be doing this again. You would not allow another male to put his hands on you again.
"I'd rather the Cauldron boil me alive."
And then you were swinging, the sword coming down with a mighty clang against the male's own. The resistance reverberated up your arm, through your bones, and you gritted your teeth at the pain. But you pushed forward, attempting to unbalance him with your steady stance.
The male to his right went in with a knife of his own, and you ducked out of the way, instead swinging low with your sword and slicing the legs of the male you had been up against. He cried out in anger and pain, and you couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face at the noise. You wanted him to choke on that pain, on those cries.
As he fell and gripped his calves, you quickly made work of his throat, slashing through the skin in a swift movement, barely even taking the time to think before you flung the dagger with your other hand into the male to your right, the tip latching into his neck.
The last male roared, pushing you off your balance until you tripped and had to steady yourself, your sword pointed toward the ground.
He swung with his own, point aimed toward your chest, and you hurried to block the action. You had no armor to defend yourself, just your brief training and your will to live.
The male kept swinging, his strength and weight being thrown into each movement, pushing you back farther and farther. Each block you threw up only dug your feet deeper into the ground, only destabilized you, only made your arms sting with fatigue.
You were panting, grunting, trying to hold your own.
And then the male was half exploding away from you. Red light and energy threw his body from yours, sending him spiraling to the ground feet away. His armor looked melted, and you could only allow yourself a brief moment of relief before you searched for Cassian.
He was still fighting the other males. Plenty of other males, as the majority went straight for their target rather than you. Red surrounded him, his sword sparkling, dark hair gracefully blowing with each jab. He didn't even look winded. There were twenty males surrounding him, and about the same amount scattered on the ground limp and bloodied.
His movements were clean and precise. As if he were made to do this, his body glided in a beautiful dance that left males to drop before him. If blood had not been coating your vision, it would almost seem as if they were dropping to their knees in reverence.
You shook yourself out of your stupor, hefting up the sword and your dagger and moving forward again into the action.
You were steps away from another Illyrian, his brown eyes locking on your own, when blue blinded your vision.
Like lightning rocking the ground underneath you, a beam of cobalt shot from the sky, sending the earth trembling under your feet. The noise roared in your ears as you tried to keep your footing, blinking away from the bright light.
Your veins hummed, your skin tingled.
Because coming out of that bright blue light, eyes glowing like a god, was Azriel.
His wings were flared, taking up as much space as three Illyrians as he marched toward them, his towering form enough to make you want to fall to your knees in worship.
Light shone on his face, cutting his sharp cheekbones with the blue of his siphons. He looked angelic, and beautiful, and like the savior you dreamed about.
Your chest pulled you toward him, but your movements were halted by cold tendrils snaking around your wrists, pulling you backward.
You almost shouted, but then you realized as a grunt sounded in your ear what was happening. Azriel's shadows were back. They were back by your side and they were helping you. You could have wept with joy feeling the silky bands kissing your skin.
They pulled you out of the way of one of the Illyrians, his punch missing your head as you dodged. You didn't even have time to plunge the dagger toward his eye before the shadows were swarming the male, flowing into his nostrils, ears, mouth and eyes, until blood was flowing out of them, jaw hanging open and body going limp.
You gasped in shock as the male fell to your feet, choking and suffocating on his own internal bodily matter.
Trying not to gag, you pulled your gaze up to Cassian and Azriel fighting back to back. Flashes of red and blue lit up the sky, and you went to move closer, but the shadows held you back. They swarmed your ankles, your calves, and held you in place. Some lingering shadows skimmed the rest of your body, searching the open skin for wounds.
When the last of the males fell, the shadows released you, and you stumbled at the sudden freedom.
Then you were rushing toward your friends, sword falling from your fingertips to lay with the dead bodies in your haste. Cassian and Azriel were talking, but Azriel's body was turned toward you as if he was paying attention to you both at once -- and you supposed he was, what with his shadows monitoring your every movement and breath.
But then he couldn't focus on Cassian, couldn't say anything else, because you wouldn't let him. You didn't care if he shoved you off of him, you didn't care if he took both of your shoulders in his scarred hands and threw you to the ground, not as you flung yourself into his torso, the wind knocked out of your lungs with the force.
He caught himself with one step back, his arms going to catch you against him despite his shock. His body was tense with surprise, but you didn't care, not as you grasped his leathers, not as you breathed in the smell of him, not as you basked in the fact that Azriel was back after you were scared he would never see or talk to you again.
Your breath was shaky as you listened to his heartbeat underneath your ear. His arms tightened around you, and you felt as seconds ticked by before gentle fingers tangled in your hair hesitantly.
Still, he did not say a word.
You would take this moment, savor it, knowing it could be your last chance at any kind of intimacy, at any kind of care and love with Azriel before everything came crashing down again, before reality and all you had both said and done disrupted what could have been.
You could hear Cassian’s footsteps fading in the distance, but the sound was muffled as you attempted to get closer to the shadowsinger, gripping him tighter, burying your face deeper into his hard strong chest.
He was so warm against you, and the contrast of that heat against the cool shadows weaving around you had you nearly gasping.
Tears were in your eyes before you could control your emotions, knowing how embarrassing this was. You had pushed him away for months, made him crawl for your forgiveness, but as soon as you were the one to make a mistake, you couldn’t handle it. You were just so glad he was home. So glad he was here in front of you so you could apologize, and feel whole again with him near. You hadn’t realized how empty you felt with him gone-
“Are you okay?” His rough voice cracked above you, barely audible above the wind.
You nodded against him, trying to compose your feelings before reluctantly releasing him and taking a step back. His fingers trailed after you as if by instinct, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to distract yourself from touching him once again.
“I’m okay,” you reiterated, hands tangling together in nerves. He looked you up and down, brows furrowed as if he didn’t quite believe you, as if he needed to give you a thorough inspection. “Are you?”
“Fine,” he quietly spoke. And you could tell that he was. He didn’t even look like he broke a sweat going up against the remaining Illyrians, which made your worry for him even more embarrassing.
“I didn’t…” you swallowed, sorting through your jumbled thoughts. “What are you doing back?”
His gaze was soft but guarded. Your heart thumped in your chest painfully at the contrast to how he looked at you just a week or two ago. You had hurt him enough for those walls to go back up, and you also couldn’t ignore the hurt you had felt (even if you were trying your hardest to forget it).
Instead of answering your question, Azriel said, “We should talk. After I check in with Rhys.”
“Right.” You nodded, rubbing your palms on your pants, the fabric clinging to your thighs. “That’s probably more important.”
Azriel just looked at you though before muttering, “Not more important.”
You hated the tension, the uncertainty, and if not for the adrenaline in your veins, you were sure you would have started crying again.
“I’ll come find you after.”
You nodded, and he gave you a short one in return, sending his shadows to stay with your form once again. They twirled around you, as if to make up for their master’s lack of visible excitement, and you tried to let them warm the anxiety overwhelming you.
And then he was winnowing you back to the House of Wind, only allowing the darkness to envelop him again once you were secure behind its wards.
-------------------------------------
You waited for Azriel all night.
The clock ticking on your wall seemed to mock you, and you wondered if he was already in his room hiding from you, or if he had decided to not return to you to talk after all.
You wouldn’t blame him for changing his mind, but the thought still caused your heart to twist in your chest. You had so much to say, so much to just let out into the open, that if he ended up not wanting to talk, you thought it would probably end up weighing you down to your grave.
Sighing, you wrapped a blanket around your bare shoulders to shield your nightgown-clad form from the cold, stepping out onto one of the balconies at the House of Wind. You couldn’t go lay in Azriel’s room, and you weren’t going to be able to rest in your own. So, you sat along the edge of the balcony, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping the blanket tight as could be around you.
Shadows rested on your shoulders and by your hips, silently keeping watch around you. Their presence was calming as you looked over the night sky.
You remembered sitting in this exact spot months before, smiling to yourself as you compared your life in the Hewn City to where you had come here in Velaris. So much had changed then, and even more now.
You missed the ease of being around your friends and around Azriel. And it frustrated you, because you knew you would be happier with him around again, but you didn’t know what was right to do. What was correct?
Your heart ached for him even more now than it did months ago, as if a tether was pulling you to him, begging you to become one as it was always meant to be. And you knew that feeling of completion in your soul would finally come when you two could move forward again, but you didn’t even know what that meant, if it was possible, if he’d want that-
“You’re going to catch your death out here.”
Your head whipped around so quickly at his voice, you were surprised he didn’t laugh.
“Azriel,” you breathed.
“Why don’t we go inside?” He nodded to your bundled up form. He made no move to help you stand, instead keeping his hands shoved into his pockets, body held tight with tension.
You stood in a hurry, clutching the blanket to your shivering form before making your way over to his tall frame and past the open door.
He followed you quietly as you sat down on one of the couches, shutting the door behind you two. He didn’t immediately take a seat, instead watching as you got comfortable (as comfortable as you could be with all of the anxiety coursing through you), before walking around one of the chairs and lowering himself down into it. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, scarred hands clasped together and holding his attention.
He seemed much more unaffected than you. But you both had been affected by what had happened to you for months, and you understood he was probably exhausted, probably done putting energy into this situation, into you.
“I have so much I need to say.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out so insecure.
He only looked at you expectantly — not cold nor mean, but open and listening, his hazel eyes nonjudgemental.
“I want to tell you everything,” you started. “From before that night to what happened and how I was feeling after. But please, Azriel, please know I will never forgive myself for the words I spoke to you last week. I am so sorry. So so sorry. I meant none if it.”
Your voice shook with your tears, and you immediately wiped them away before they became too obvious to the spy.
He was silent, and you felt that thing in your chest crack further.
“You are the most honorable and lovable person I have ever known. Any words indicating otherwise were spoken from a place of hurt and anger and are completely untrue. You give your safety up daily to protect others, you have done nothing but try to make life better for those that you can. You have a good heart and a kind soul, and you are a way better person than the world deserves — than I deserve.”
Azriel shook his head at your words. “You deserved more than what happened to you. Than what I did.”
“I think we both made mistakes.”
His silence unnerved you, and you found yourself scrambling. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, if you don’t want to be around me anymore. I can find another place to live in Velaris… or I can go back to the Hewn City-”
“Hewn City?”
“This is your home— has always been your home. I’ve only been here recently. I can go wherever you need me to.”
“I want you to stay here.”
Your eyes met his hazel ones, and you could see a crack in the walls he had built up, the panic and emotion seeping through.
“I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” The words came out like a confession, like he hadn’t actually intended you hear them.
“I don’t want to leave you,” you admitted. “I hate this.”
“I do, too.”
Your fingers gripped the blanket tighter around you, pulling it until it held you with makeshift protection.
“I had never been more afraid than I was that night,” you told him, not able to quite make eye contact while talking about this. “But it was worse because it was you who forgot me, who didn’t think of me.”
He flinched at your words, and you hurried to explain.
“I’ve been in love with you for so long, Azriel. I put expectations onto you that you didn’t even know were there. It was unfair of me to put myself above Elain, to demand your protection and your thoughts as if I was entitled to them.”
“You are entitled to them,” he said forcefully, pulling your eyes up to his own.
You shook your head, giving him a sad smile. “I know you care about me. You’re a loving person. But that doesn’t mean I can punish you for not loving me as much as I wish.”
“Stop, please.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if he was in physical pain.
You waited for him to collect himself, to sort through his thoughts and emotions. His jaw was clenched, his fingers trembling, and you found comfort in the evidence that you weren’t the only one feeling nervous and uncertain.
“I never want to hear you excuse what I did that night again. Do you understand?”
He took a deep breath at your silence before continuing. “You are not someone to be forgotten, to be left behind. I will do everything in my power to convince you of that until I am dust to this planet.”
Your eyes watered with his words, but you let him keep going, getting the words off his chest.
“And you are entitled to my protection and thoughts. You are entitled to every part of me. You are my mate, and I will thank the Cauldron every day for blessing me with you even if you do not return the sentiment nor want to act on it any longer.”
Mate.
He was your mate.
Holy gods.
You thought of the pull you always felt toward the shadowsinger, the comfort you felt in his arms, the soothing scent of his sheets and clothes. You thought of the way he always seemed to know what you needed, how you were hyperaware of his presence and touch, the feeling of incompletion when he was away.
“Azriel…”
“I’m not sure where we go from here. I know that I will beg for you, on my hands and knees, daily for the rest of my life. I know that I will do what I can to help you through any trauma I caused, to earn your trust back. I know that I have fallen in love with you in the past few months, even before that without realizing. But I also know that I have done you wrong, and that I cannot change the past nor the hurt you endured.”
Your lips trembled, and you tried your hardest to keep looking into his hazel eyes, but you could feel it. The bond, the pain centered in both your chest and his own. The love and care he felt traveling into you, lighting that hallow space up and filling it until you felt him.
“Will you forgive me for the terrible things I said?” You asked, matching his own vulnerability. “Will you allow me to convince you of your worth and heart?”
Something sparked in your chest at the words, and his hopeful brown green eyes met your own.
“You’re already forgiven.”
You could barely hold in a sob at his words, and then he was slowly moving toward you. He let you see each of his actions, as if he expected you to shove him away, to have him give you space like you had the last two months.
But as soon as his hands brushed back the hair from your face, cupping your jaw, you were lunging toward him. Your arms encircled his neck, gripping tight tight tight, bringing him as close to your body as you could. His hand cradled the back of your head to his neck, his own nose nuzzling into the side of you.
You could feel his tears wetting your skin, and you knew he could feel your own cries against him, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to think about any more pain right now. Not about what happened months ago, not about what you said last week, not about Azriel’s week-long absence or the Illyrian revolt. All you could think about were his hands holding you.
“I love you,” you spoke into his neck. “I’ve always loved you.”
His fingers gripped you tighter, to the point of near bruising. And then he pulled back.
His lips brushed against your forehead, the soft gesture bringing more tears to your eyes.
“When I felt that fear go across the bond tonight, even through the walls I had put up, I thought I would be coming home to Cassian carrying you into this room bloody again. I thought I would be too late, again.”
But he had come for you. Even after everything you had thrown at him, he had been willing to put himself on the line for you and was still ready for your rejection.
You shook your head at him, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “I held my own pretty well actually.”
His eyes gleamed through the haunted look he had, a light of praise shining through, and then they were dropping to look at your lips.
Your skin warmed at the action, your mouth parting instinctually. His thumb brushed your bottom lip in admiration before his eyes moved back up to your own.
“We still have a lot to discuss.” His voice was quiet but rough, and you nearly clenched your thighs together at the sound.
He must have felt your body heat rising, the way you were tempted to squirm into his lap, to lean forward just a bit more, because his pupils dilated and his grip on you tightened ever so slightly.
“We have all the time now, right?” You asked hesitantly, his lips drawing you in as if you were in a trance. “And it’s late. It might be better to talk more once we get some rest.”
“Rest.” He repeated, his tongue testing out the word.
“I’ve been sleeping in your room,” you admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “Maybe we can both stay there tonight.”
“I’ll do anything you want.”
And you could hear the truth in the words, the desperation and vulnerability. If you told him to drop to his knees in front of you, he would do it. He would kiss the ground you walked on and look at you reverently while doing so.
So you led him to stand with you, dropping the blanket from your shoulders to fall back onto the couch, and grasped his hand with your own.
His eyes took in the light fabric hugging your body, and you watched them darken, his lashes fluttering and tongue wetting his lips.
“I want you,” you said.
The words were not necessarily ones of lust, but they were fueled in desire, in love and fire that had been suffocated for months. Letting them fall from your lips felt as cathartic as screaming.
“You have me,” Azriel said in return, his hand cupping your lower back and pulling you against him.
His body lined up with your own, but it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to feel inside of him, you wanted to pull on that bond until it glowed a blinding gold across your vision. You wanted to feel his skin everywhere, curl your fingers into his hair, and tell him everything you had ever thought about him.
You have me too, you wanted to tell him. So take me.
And as his feet slowly started moving you both back toward his room, your heart skipped in your chest. His answering smile at the feeling had heat rising to your cheeks and an embarrassed giggle erupting.
Take me, you thought again. Make me yours.
He scooped you up into his arms and your mind emptied. No more pain, no more confusion, just you and Azriel and the thrum of love in your chest.
You have me. I’m yours.
1K notes · View notes
leclerc-hs · 5 months
Text
marked - cl16
Tumblr media
Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: a request from anon ‘Charles marking you as his’ Warnings: smut, choking, language, 18+ Word Count: 546 Author’s Note: I apologize for it being short!!!! I think I want to attempt to write a short series maybe. Any ideas on what it should be about? ALSO HAPPY FERRARI LOCKOUT DAY. I am praying we can stay on podium today lmaooo French edits made by @shewantsvengeance!!!!
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
IF YOU HAD to ask anybody, they would tell you that Charles was a rather generous being. He was always willing to provide help to someone in need. When your friend’s house had a gas leak, he provided her a space to crash for the time being. Whenever somebody needed a ride, he was the person to call. If you forgot your wallet, don’t worry he already covered it anyways.
So, when your apartment was deemed unlivable due to remodeling, he promptly extended a warm welcoming haven for you to find solace in.
The dynamic between you and Charles was a peculiar one, not yet falling into the category of an official couple yet possessing an unmistakable intensity. It was as if a protective aura enveloped the two of you; anyone daring to cast even a fleeting thought in your direction was met with a foreboding presence. Regardless of the official label, you were his. He was yours.
Which is how you found yourself here. In this present moment. With Charles hand gripped around your neck as you straddled him on the couch.
“Fuck,” he grunted as you hastily worked yourself over his cock. The deep groan he elicited had your lip quivering. His hands grasped onto your hips tightly, guiding you. “Gonna take it all, huh?”
“Gonna be a good cumslut for me, princesse?” He wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
“Shut up and make me cum already,” you couldn’t help but bite back. He possessed a remarkable talent for teasing, edging you for what has felt like hours. It was torment, pushing you to the threshold of your orgasm but then denying it before you could jump over the edge.
“Feisty, hm?” his hands slipped back up to your neck, squeezing hard. “Don’t be a brat.”
Tiny beads of sweat started to form on the edge of his eyebrow, the veins of his neck visible. You wished you could take a picture.
You felt your hips start to lose rhythm as your legs grew weaker. You are a whimpering wet mess. “Can’t even ride me properly,” a smirk formed on his lips.
“Please, Cha,” you begged, currently on the verge of having a break down from the frustration. “I need-“
“Need me to fuck you? Can’t get yourself off alone baby? So useless.” He was laughing. It made your pussy clench harder. You didn’t even have to respond before Charles was flipping you under him on the couch. Your hands immediately grasping onto the back of the couch for support as he fucked you from behind.
He leaned forward, his body arched over yours, his lips found a place on your neck. With a deliberate intention, he sucked hard. No doubt leaving a dark purple like bruise on the cusp of your neck and jaw. Claiming you.
The mixture of his fervent sucking with the drilling of his hips was more than enough to send you teetering over the edge this time. His, right behind you. You were screaming, tears escaping your eyes as you felt yourself squeezing all around his cock.
You were both out of breath. Collapsed on one another on the couch. Completely ruined, that’s how you felt. The giant reddish purple on your neck was sore, Charles finger tracing it with a smile.
“Everyone will know you’re mine now.”
2K notes · View notes
dervampireprince · 8 months
Text
[dni minors, dni blogs that have no 18+ age listed in their bio] body worshipping astarion /// gender-neutral reader/tav
telling him that his pleasure gives you pleasure, that you enjoy making him feel good, that he doesn't ever have to do anything in return. and that's hard for him to believe, of course. but you can prove it.
you can have him laid back on the bed, stripped bare, as you kiss across his face, making him laugh if you kiss him on the tip of his nose,
"it is rather cute of you darling that you want to spoil me, but"
no buts. you tell him this is what he deserves. he deserves to be spoiled, to be held and treated as though he's something precious. because he is.
you're careful as you kiss down his neck, not knowing if the bite scar on his neck is too painful of a reminder, so you avoid it, sliding down his chest, thumbs pushing against his nipples, taking one in your mouth as he sighs, hardening against you,
"as nice as this is, there are rather more sensitive areas you could be attending too,"
you swat him gently on the thigh and tell him to be patient, though you know he isn't. that you're not trying to tease him, you're savouring him,
he'll get what he wants though, as you slink down and ask him to spread his legs, and when he slowly does you struggle to read his face, is he apprehensive? surely he can't be nervous...?
you kiss his inner thighs, daring to nibble, and when he gasps and moans you bite harder, leaving marks as you edge closer to his cock, already starting to leak, begging for attention, sliding you fingers down until they circle around the base, you look up at him as you take his cock into your mouth.
he's loud as you slide yourself up and down, he always is. he knows his voice is attractive, he knows it spurs you on, his noises, his praise,
"yes, darling, that's it, fuck, such a talented little mouth, so good for me,"
but this isn't about you, it's about him, and you want him rendered speechless, unable to use any honeyed words as he falls apart, and you'll be here holding onto him, making sure he doesn't fall too far, making sure he's put back together in the end.
he almost yelps, embarrassed at the undignified sound, as you slide your hands under his arse and pull him up, clawing at his skin, letting his cock hit the back of your throat, breathing through your nose as you gag, trying to look up at him, daring for him to see how much you'd do for him,
you pull your mouth off his cock to watch him squirm, his hips twitch, your blow cool air onto him and he whines, he whines and he seems embarrassed of it and he's beautiful,
you tell him that, and he knows, but there isn't the usual witty and vain retort, he whines again, panting, you tilt your head and smile and ask him if he wants to cum,
"of course i want to-"
he cuts himself of as you frown and start to pull your hands away. he knows what you want him to say.
"alright, i..." he catches his breath. "please."
please what?
he wants to scowl, but he wants your touch more, "please, i want to come, please."
he's back to moaning the second your mouth slides back down on his cock, whining again when you pull off, only to replace your mouth with your hand, sliding up and down his slick cock, as your mouth moves to his balls, fingers slipping against his arse, brushing between them accidentally, you think you aught to move them but the sound he makes, oh the sounds he makes,
barely thinking, just driven by the urge to have him come undone, you slip your hand under his leg and pull it up over your shoulder, gripping his thigh, mouth back on his cock as your other hand brushes against his hole again and you watch him shiver and claw at the bedding and you're emboldened and you rub your finger against his hole, never pressing inside, in time with how your head bobs up and down,
his words are gone now, he moans and gasps and you want him to let himself go, to thrust his hips up into your mouth, to relax into the bed, slide one of his hands onto your head if that's his urge, this is for him,
he tries to speak, "love, i-" and then he throws his head back, one of his hands flying to his face, you can't imagine him wanting to hide himself or his voice but then again has he ever let himself he this exposed before during sex?
you swallow around him as he comes, mouth still on him as he's oversensitive and twitching until you hear him sob,
and then you're letting his leg down gently off your shoulder, pulling yourself up to look at him, cupping his cheeks in your hands, him nodding to say he's alright, and then you're back to planting kisses over his face, telling him that he's safe, that he's beautiful, that you're honoured he trusts you with himself, stroking his hair as he comes down, falling onto your side and him clinging to you, his head against your chest as you kiss along his hair line,
"thank you," he breathes
of course
"you... well. i clearly underestimated you, again. i... i'm not sure i've ever come like that before. but before you sex was never much about my own pleasure. but that was... nice."
he coughs, composes himself,
"and well, if you ever wanted to do it again, or let me return the favour, though yes before you interrupt i understand you are trying to teach me that i don't have to repay you for anything with sex, but then i would also remind that i genuinely like having sex with you, having you at my mercy, moaning for me..."
you huff,
"yes. right. that is to say, i could be persuaded to let you have your wicked way with me again. it wasn't... unpleasant. i might have feared it could be, that being at someone else's mercy could bring about... memories or feelings. but it didn't. because it's with you. you make me feel... safe. i want to cherish that."
you kiss him again. and again. until you tell him you're not supposed to be waking yourselves up, and he pouts, but relents,
you'll clean yourselves up in a moment, for now, you enjoy him allowing himself to rest in your arms
3K notes · View notes
Text
The Fight || Billy The Kid x reader
Tumblr media
Summary: Billy involves himself in a physical fight over you.
Warnings: violence, swearing, blood
Wc: 1,347
A/n: uh- this is my very first time writing a Billy fic so pls bear w me (especially w how they talk and stuff) bc in the the series I don’t really find Billy talking like how ppl write abt him (absolutely not hate whatsoever to those who do, I absolutely love ur fics find you all so talented 😭) so I’ll try my best to be as accurate as I can. Do let me know if I make a mistake so I can improve :)
Tumblr media
Divider by @pommecita
"I'd fuck her any day if she wasn't whoring herself for him," Ollinger slurs, throwing his head back to let the contents of the bottle run down his throat as the men around him laugh. Billy's head pikes up at the sound. Typical Ollinger, talking about some woman as if she was an object.
Billy watches from the other side of the room as he continues to talk to them, his voice becoming louder by the second. "hot for a fucking gringo, and that's saying something," He shakes his head his eyes half close by how wasted he was.
"Wonder how Billy would feel if I had her, don't think he's too keen on sharin?" He nudges the guy beside him before bursting out laughing. Hearing this, he realises that Ollinger was talking about you. Calling you a whore.
He slammed the bottle in his hand down on the table making a loud noise. Pat Garrett and Jessie slightly flinch before they look up at Billy who was already standing, fuming.
"What's goin' on?" Pat asks, his eyes trying to follow Billy's line of gaze. Billy doesn't answer, instead, he storms over to where Bob Ollinger was and his friends. They were all laughing until one of the guys ushered everyone and tapped Ollinger to face Billy.
He slowly turned around, seemingly not bothered by Billy's presence or the fact that he towered over him. "Have something to say 'bout my girl Ollinger? Hm?" He stands his ground, taking another swig of his alcohol as he maintains eye contact with Billy. Everyone in the room had quietened down, eyes trained on the two who never got along.
"Maybe. Wanna hear what I gotta say Billy?" He smirks as Pat Garret and Jessie had already stood up from where they were. Billy narrows his eyes at the man. "I think she's a pretty little gringa you got there, but she needs a real man, not some kid like you-" "You're fucking pathetic, y'know that?" Billy spat, venom laced in his words.
Ollinger seemed to have sobered up when he said that. He looked at Billy with pure rage. "What’d you call me, boy." His blood was boiling at this point. "I said." Billy steps closer, "You're fucking pathetic." He threw a punch at his jaw as Ollinger falls back from the impact and his lack of balance.
At this point the room was cheering the two on as they throw punches at each other. Ollinger swings at Billy but misses, he was glad he wasn't drinking as much that night. He then lunges and aims towards Billy's stomach, knocking him onto the table as all its contents fell on the floor. "C'mon Billy get up!" Garrett pushes him back up.
Billy had a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow as a trail of blood fell down the side of his face. However, it was nothing compared to the damage he did on Ollinger. "Call a whore one more time, I dare you," Billy yelled, throwing punch after punch as he was on top of him. "Billy! Billy stop!" Billy heard your familiar voice but didn't stop. All he could see was red.
From the moment you stepped foot out of your carriage that dropped you off in front of the pub, you knew a brawl of some sort was going on inside by the way you could hear cheers and the noise of furniture being knocked over.
You hurriedly walk in. You couldn't see what was going on over the tall people who stood in front of you. Weaving your way through the crowd to try and see what the commotion was about, you bumped into Jessie. "Woah there-" "Jessie, what's going on? Where's Billy?" You quickly ask him before your eyes fall onto him.
He was on top of Ollinger, throwing punch after punch. Your eyes widen in horror as you try to go to him but was held back by Jessie who had an arm around your shoulder. "Let me go! I need to stop him Jessie!" You struggle against his iron like grip. "Can't have you get involved in fight, sweetheart. Can’t let you goin' home with a scratch on your pretty face now can I?"
He says against the side of your face as you squirm, helplessly watching the fight. There was blood everywhere and you feared that Billy had killed Ollinger. "Jessie!" You thrash in his grip before he gives Garrett a look who nods and quickly breaks up the fight.
"That's enough, Billy. You got what you wanted," Pat and few other guys pulled Billy back who was breathing heavily, blood covered his shirt and hands. Billy spits on the ground. "All right, show's over!" Jessie yells as people start leaving. Ollinger gets pulled up by a few others as he's dragged away, his body limp.
"Don't you fucking go near her! You hear me Ollinger?" Billy yells before he spits more blood out. "Enough, Billy!" You exasperated, kneeling beside him to take his face in your hands, inspecting it.
Thank god there wasn’t much damage, only a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow. “For god’s sake Billy! What happened now?” You search his eyes as he stares back at you, blankly. You catch Pat and Jessie looking at you before their eyes find the floor rather interesting. You stand up, dress already spotted in crimson as you brush the loose strands of your hair behind your ears, “What happened here?”
~
You made a beeline to your bathroom. Billy closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed, he let out a groan before falling back onto the soft mattress. He starts to sit up when he hears you walk back in, a first aid kit in your hands.
You hadn't spoken a word to him since the two of you left the pub and came back to your house. You were grateful that your parents were away for the week, they would have thrown a fit if they saw you covered in blood and Billy batted up.
Moving to stand in between his legs, Billy lifts his hands up to rest on your hips but you slap his hands away. "Darlin'-" "I don't want to hear it Billy," You say, annoyance dripping from you voice as he hisses at the contact of disinfectant on his cut.
Billy lets out a sigh, his eyes trained on your angel like face as you attend to his face. "I'm sorry, I really am-" "Five times. Five times you've gotten into a fight because of me." You scoff, tilting his head firmly as you go over his eyebrow.
"You told me you would stop Billy. I can't keep playing nurse with you because you can't bite your tongue," You make eye contact with him. "You expect me to just sit around and do nothing when some guy is calling you my whore?" Billy's voice gets louder as he furrows his eyebrows at you.
You gulp, eyes looking everywhere but him. "Look at me!" He grips your chin with his thumb and index finger, "You've known me long enough to know I ain't that type of guy," He spoke, his eyes darkening.
"And you've known me long enough to know that I can handle whatever they call me. I don't need you getting into a fight every time someone foul mouths me," Your eyes begin to water. You hated seeing Billy like this. You hated how most of his fights revolved around the topic of you.
"They're all worth it, doll. You're worth it." Billy wipes away the singular tear that managed to escape. You sniffle lightly before he pulls you onto his lap, your arms securing themselves around his neck as he strokes your hair.
"Try not to get into another fight because of me," You mutter, your fingers drawing random shapes on his back as you hear him chuckle, "Can't keep any promises, darlin'" He kisses your hair as the two of you hold each other.
2K notes · View notes
kingkonoha · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
— ♡ — I’D LOVE TO KILL YOU — ♡ —
➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo x curse user!reader
➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: you’re tasked with killing gojo, who also happens to be an enemy of yours. nothing seems to go as planned when you both end up fucking instead.
➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY // MINORS DNI — fem!reader, villain!reader, hate sex, choking, oral, begging, kissing, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, cream pie, cumming down throat.
➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4K
Tumblr media
Mr. Hansul, the leader of an infamous band of Curse Users, had one simple rule.
You must never look him in the eyes.
One must kneel down on one knee if ever in his presence, head facing the ground while the old man spoke of whatever devious mission was awaiting.
Aside from that, you could do whatever you want.
Wear whatever you want.
Train however you want.
Kill whoever you want.
Granted, you and every other member of his devilish crew were given a variety of clothing, all branded with a symbol—a half black, half red circle—attached to every single clothing item.
Housing was provided in the form of decently sized bunkrooms to the west of headquarters, but it was rather pointless.
Only a fool would fall asleep in the company of fellow immoral Curse Users and assassins.
It was also wise to engage in as little chatter as possible during mealtime. Who knew if one of your dear comrades would take the opportunity to slip some poison into your bowl of ramen while you interacted with another individual, daring to close your eyes while laughing softly?
Around here, within the grey stone walls of headquarters, jealousy was as deadly as a cursed technique. Mr. Hansul would assign missions to Curse Users based on their skill level and spirited talent, and therefore, when the greedy old man wanted to be the one to proudly hang the world’s strongest sorcerer’s head on his wall, it was rumored that he’d pick you for such a daunting task.
Every single member of Mr. Hansul’s group, The Cursed Assassins Association, wanted to be the one assigned to kill Satoru Gojo. Doing so would not only bring honor to the CAA, but to every Curse User forced to live in a divided world where Jujutsu Sorcerers were seen as gods. Curse Users, however? They were pure devils.
Therefore, if Mr. Hansul would truly pick you for such an honorable assignment, you would have to play it safe.
Sleep with a knife tucked underneath your pillow.
Eat as far away from everyone else as you could.
Never let your guard down.
Mr. Hansul might have only had one rule, but you had several.
Around the second week since the rumors of the Chosen Assassin were born, two of Mr. Hansul’s escorts led you to his office. They approached you in the middle of your training session, the only time of day in which you happened to be as far away as possible from the office belonging to your boss. And, naturally, you couldn’t help but fixate over the distance, as with every step you made down the dark and haunting halls of headquarters—the clanking of your boots echoing like a broken record—you were reminded of just how far away his office was.
Damn him.
He knew exactly what he was doing when he undoubtedly stroked his hideous goatee, squinting his soulless black eyes as he ordered his guards to fetch you during your training session. You were forced to walk down almost every hallway, turn every corner, and climb every step within the base of operations for the CAA in order to reach his office. Because of that, all of the other assassins saw you.
They stopped chewing their meals. They stopped mid combat with their trainers. They stopped their conversations as they wandered down the poorly lit halls. All to watch you being escorted to Mr. Hansul’s office.
All to watch you walk towards your destiny; a fate each of them desperately wanted.
When you finally arrived outside of the heavy double doors, the escorts opening them for you to let you in, you immediately dropped your gaze. After a few more heavy steps, you kneeled down on one knee in front of your boss. After many years of taking this position in front of him, you became more familiar with the appearance of his feet instead of his face.
“Good afternoon, sir.” Your greeting was flat. Stale. Like a dead river.
“Hm,” he breathlessly replied.
It was only a small huff, but it was laced with degradation. Thick with venom. It was more than obvious that he was a soulless soul who worked harder than the devil.
“Sorry to interrupt your training,” he teased unpleasantly, “but I have an assignment for you.”
“Sir.”
“It’s a simple mission, one that I expect you to complete quickly and effortlessly. You are to kill Satoru Gojo. When you’ve succeeded, bring me the body.”
“So…the rumors were true,” you thought.
“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think that I-”
“Let me remind you as to why I summoned you at this particular hour. Let me remind you of why I let the news circulate for two entire weeks before calling you into my office,” he raised his raspy voice. “I wanted your comrades to be well aware that you are the one I am trusting with this task. It encourages jealousy. Jealousy encourages hatred. And, lastly, hatred encourages murder.”
“I understand. My comrades want to kill me now. How does that benefit you, then? Why do you want them to hate me?”
“Because, it’ll motivate you to accept this assignment. If you turn it down, you could be murdered in your sleep out of pure jealousy. If you agree, and should you return victorious, no one here would dare to lay a finger on you.” He gave a sinister chuckle. “And, well, if you don’t succeed, it’ll only be because Satoru Gojo killed you. Either way, the choice is yours.”
“Sir.”
And with that, you were dismissed. You were dismissed with a choice. Life or death. Life and death.
Truth be told, you wanted to be the one to take Satoru Gojo’s life with your entire heart and soul. You couldn’t stand the humanlike god. His influence upon the world of curses was the exact reason why there was such a divide between Jujutsu Sorcerers like him, and Curse Users such as yourself. By his standards, which set the tone for the rest of the world, you were all monsters. You deserved nothing. You all made the cruelest devil look like the pure, charity-driven, peace-making priest. One who probably devoted their time to feeding homeless children on Sunday afternoons.
Be that as it may, someone needed to teach the white-haired bastard a lesson. As you gathered your belongings, leaving the CAA headquarters as quickly as you could, you could only hope that a real god would let you succeed in taking down the wannabe.
The green leaves danced in the swirling wind. The nightly breeze made every tree wave their branches, and the enormous land howled with the sharp swishes of restless woods.
Even nature itself had to witness the death of Satoru Gojo, who walked out from behind a thick tree.
He had sensed an evil presence while making his way across town, and followed it into the middle of nowhere. That was when he saw you, standing there, waiting patiently to take his life. You had successfully drawn him out.
“I see you picked a place with lots of land. That’s smart, I’ll give you that,” he stepped towards you, his blindfolded eyes scanning over your mysterious figure. “Who are you? And what exactly do you want?”
“Knowing who I am won’t do you any good,” you frowned. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”
The wind whispered, filling the thick silence that followed your threat.
“Ya know, I take back what I said, now that I think about it,” he scratched the back of his head. “You picked a horrible place to fight. The moon as our only source of light? You gotta be kidding me. Can you even see me right now?”
Your frown deepened. It was as if the surrounding winds had managed to blow your threat away, carrying it off into nothingness as if you had said nothing at all. You told the icy white-haired man that in a few simple moments, he would actually meet his creator, and yet, it was like he viewed death as a mundane chore.
Either that, or he simply didn’t think you could kill him.
“So,” Gojo cleared his throat following your bitter quietness, stuffing his large hands inside of his packets. “That’s a nice pin. I’m guessing you’re one of Mr. Hansul’s little assassins, right? Don’t tell me the big guy didn’t wanna come out and see me himself.”
“Well,” a cruel grin appeared across your face, “I have a feeling that he’ll be seeing you. When I deliver your dead body to him, of course.”
“That’s cute. Did you practice saying that in the mirror?”
Your grin vanished. And he smirked.
“What’s your name?” Gojo questioned, daring to take a few steps in your direction when you failed to respond to his teasing.
“Why do you wanna know my name so badly?”
“Maybe it’s polite to introduce yourself to the person you’re trying to kill.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t aggravate the person who’s here to kill you.”
“Ha,” Gojo tossed his head back with a laugh. It was like he was having an ordinary chat with an old friend about a football game, discussing the latest scores and fumbles before asking for another beer. “You summoned me out here, sweetheart. Don’t cha think that you’re aggravating me by interrupting my day?”
“Alright, I’ve had enough of you.” The stern words fell from your lips, and with that, you gripped the hand blades dangling from your belt.
One sharp blade was placed in between each of your gloved fingers. Releasing your sweet, cursed energy into them, they took their own special form, and hovered in the space between your fingers.
One wave of your hand would send them flying in any direction at the speed of lightning, the thick aura of your cursed energy ready to pour into your chosen target. Even if the target could somehow manage to move or dodge, your blades would always find them. Once your blades touched your target, it would burn through them, and continue to push through their bodies until they were dead.
Or you released the blades.
But the latter hadn’t happened yet.
You launched them at Gojo with a grunt, and since you truthfully didn’t have time to mess around—unlike most predators who wanted to play with their prey—you aimed for Gojo’s heart.
Four incredibly sharp, flying, and burning blades were coming his way. Even so, he didn’t remove his hands from his pockets. He didn’t try to dodge. His hair didn’t even blow in the wind.
You didn’t have any time to question his intentions, as when your blades were a couple of inches away from that beating muscle inside of his chest, they stopped.
Your blades fell to the ground, laying at his feet like an abandoned toy.
He stepped on them as he made his way closer to you.
“So, as I was saying,” he started, “Since you’re aggravating me and interrupting my day, you should be the one to introduce yourself. I mean, I don’t mind going first if you’re the shy type. I’m Satoru Gojo, but I think you might know that already.”
“How the hell did you…” you gulped, your eyes widening as the realization truly started to kick in. “You stopped my blades, and you didn’t even move. How the hell did you do that?”
“Ya know,” Gojo smirked, “you’re pretty cute. If it wasn’t for the stubborn attitude or the attempted murder, I think I’d ask you out.”
You clenched your fists. He was so goddamn infuriating. And that smirk had pissed you off beyond belief.
“You’re really no fun. It’s such a waste when a hot person has no personality.” he sighed dramatically.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Talking to me like that?”
“I just told you, didn’t I? I’m Satoru Gojo.”
“You’re such a bastard-”
“You’re pretty hot when you’re angry, too. Has anyone ever told you that before?” He walked up to you. By now, he was close enough for you to start backing away.
Trying to put some distance between you and your target was a fruitless task. Based on the smirk his face held, he was well aware of the tree behind you before your back hit it.
“Damn it,” you thought.
His boots shuffling through the fallen leaves was a sound you became all too aware of, and with every single step, he came closer and closer until he was only a handful of inches away from you.
You could smell him. He held a faint scent of sandalwood. The whiff of it made you shift your feet.
Suddenly, he removed his hands from his pockets, tucking his thumb underneath his blindfold. He raised it, revealing his striking blue eyes. Revealing his entire face.
Being honest was another personal rule of yours. The truth was the only way to live. Not only as a way to communicate with others, but as a way to behave towards yourself.
Be true to who you are…how you feel…
And, if you tried to tell yourself that you weren’t attracted to the perfectly crafted face in front of you, you would have been a horrific liar.
He might not have been a god in your eyes, but it was obvious that the real gods took their time with him. The drastic difference between his pale skin and vibrant eyes was like admiring both the moon and the sun. Everything from his nose to the shape of his lips were perfect, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes darted across his face, taking in the beautiful features belonging to the tall, blessed man. He stared at you intensely.
You shifted your feet again.
“Like what you see?” He said lowly.
You wanted to nod, but you couldn’t. You still had a job to do, and his attractiveness changed absolutely nothing about it.
Luckily, Gojo was admiring your beauty as well. You were truly the literal definition of a Perfect Stranger. He didn’t even know your name, but he knew that he wanted to kiss those pouty lips of yours, or have your pretty eyes stare into his forever and ever.
He was distracted.
You used the given opportunity to pour your cursed energy into some spare hand blades. You tried to circle them around Gojo, targeting the back of the distracted man.
And truth be told, he was a little surprised when your blades fell once again, knocked down by the invisible force around him, but not as surprised as you were when your second murder attempt had failed.
“Damn it!” You snapped.
Even though you had blown your opportunity, even when he was well aware of your actions now, you tried once again. This time, however, Gojo didn’t even give you a proper chance to pour your cursed energy into your blades, as when you started to reach for them, he suddenly wrapped his hand around your neck, holding you against the tree.
He leaned in, that stupid smirk of his reappearing. His soft lips tickled the shell of your ear. The grip of his large hand around your neck only tightened.
“Come on now,” he whispered, his breath warming the side of your face as he spoke. “Is that all you got?”
When he released you, his calloused fingertips no longer pressed into the skin of your throat, you erupted into a fit of coughs.
And those hands. The damned hands that dared to choke you offered a reminder in the form of a gentle squeeze that he could have clenched harder. He could have tried to make his fingertips and thumb touch, watch you desperately claw at his arm until his pale skin was covered in fresh scratches and nail scrapes.
He could have watched you take your final breath, stare into your eyes and witness the light leave them, an unwavering hand still clamped around your drying throat as if to choke out any remains of your soul left behind.
But he didn’t.
He could have—and, perhaps, any ordinary person in the midst of becoming the next big contributor to the ever-growing statistics of murdered Jujutsu Sorcerers would have—but he didn’t.
“I could’ve killed you, ya know.”
And there it was. The irritating truth. The fact that he didn’t.
The amusing smirk that rested upon his face was a cruel reminder that all of this was indeed a game to him.
Even so, you had an irritating truth of your own. One that was nagging at you, existing as the sole reason why you couldn’t look Gojo in the eyes. It was purely the fact that your panties were soaked; your cunt wet from the way he grabbed you. The way he whispered in your ear. The way he choked you.
“I can’t-” you coughed. “I can’t believe this.”
“Look at me,” Gojo said softly.
You hesitated, but any fight left within you instantly vanished when he held you against that tree. Even so, the last string of dignity you held onto was your ability to keep your gaze towards the ground. However, when Gojo’s large hand cupped your chin, raising your head until you were staring right into his eyes, dignity became a foreign concept.
He was silent for a moment as he held your face. His thumb gently graced your cheek.
“Had no idea that you’d get so turned on by me choking you,” he said.
Your eyes widened. A string of protests started to fall from your lips, but suddenly, Gojo smashed his soft ones against yours.
A surprised gasp escaped you as your breath fluttered away, and he used that opportunity to deepen the kiss. Moving his hand away from your chin, he gripped the back of your neck, holding your head still as his tongue briefly touched yours. When you jumped, he smiled into the kiss.
He was quick to give your tongue a swirl with his own. Your mouth tasted fucking delicious to him, and he couldn’t help but moan down your throat. It was a slow, yet deep kiss, which was something you had never experienced before, and found yourself instantly craving when he pulled away all too soon.
He kept his buttery lips hovered over yours as he spoke. “Deny it all you want, but I could see the lust in your eyes.”
The last word had barely been spoken before he reconnected your lips. He was hungry for you like a starved man.
After his wet tongue explored your mouth, he pulled away only to latch his lips onto your neck. He bit, licked, and sucked at the skin, focusing on any spot that elicited a sweet moan from you.
You didn’t want to give that cocky asshole the satisfaction of knowing that he could make you moan like this, but you couldn’t help it. He found the sweet spot right below your jaw, and sucked at it until the skin was sore and tender.
It was only a matter of time before you were naked, pinned to the hard ground with nothing but your clothes as some sort of cushion.
Gojo, however, was still fully clothed. He pinned both of your wrists down above your head with only one of his hands, and with the other, he cupped your tit, swirling his wet tongue around your nipple.
“Hmm,” he moaned, sucking on your hard nub.
The sounds of your moans were like music flowing to a formerly deaf man’s ears. He fucking loved it. They were sweet and soft, a sharp contrast to your harsh demeanor. As he latched his mouth onto your other tit, his clothed dick hardened in his pants. He started to grind himself in between your legs, right against your wet, exposed cunt. His hard cock repeatedly pressed against your clit, and the sweet pleasure made you gasp.
“Gojo,” you whined. “I h-hate you.”
“Really?” He smirked down at you, increasing the speed of his grinding. “Still hate me, huh, baby? Why?”
“You’re teasing me.”
“Oh, I see. You were in a hurry to kill me, now you want me to hurry up and fuck you?” His grinding started to slow down. “I don’t know. I think I need some sort of apology.”
You were silent. You closed your eyes, not wanting to let the bastard win.
The warmth from Gojo’s body on top of yours vanished quickly, and instead you felt a warm breath pat against your wet folds.
“Fine,” he smirked. “Have it your way.”
Suddenly, his fingers were pulling your pussy lips open. His skillful tongue started to lick at your clit as he moaned. Instantly, you started squirming.
“Oh my god,” you groaned.
He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on the little button, letting the sweet taste of you flood his senses. Two of his long fingers started to work their way inside of you. He curled them just right.
“You taste so good,” he mumbled against your clit. “So tight, too. Can’t believe this pussy is all mine right now.”
“Gojo,” you whined, thrashing around. Bolts of pure pleasure shot through your body whenever his tongue rapidly swiped over your clit, and his fingers would touch that sweet spot inside of your pussy. A wave of heat washed over you. Your legs started to tremble.
You were about to cum, and suddenly, Gojo pulled away.
Although snatching his mouth away from your delicious pussy was the last thing he wanted, he just couldn’t let you have it that easily. Not when you had so much to apologize for.
You couldn’t help but whimper at the sudden coldness that washed over you instead of a sweet orgasm.
“You’re such an asshole,” you said breathlessly.
Gojo laughed darkly. He pulled down his pants, releasing his thick cock.
“Sorry, but you’re not cumming. Not until you apologize. It’s really not that hard,” he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, and pressed his lips against your ear as he whispered. “I just had to stop eating your pussy thanks to you. I missed out on you cumming in my mouth because you still wanna act like a brat. Apologize.”
“Fuck you,” you mumbled.
With that, Gojo thrusted into your cunt. He shoved himself in harshly, working his thick cock in until your pussy could adjust to his size.
“So tight…so tight for me,” he moaned. “No one’s ever used you like this before?”
Gojo pinned your wrists down once again, giving your mouth another quick swirl of his tongue as he did so, moaning at the taste of you and the feeling of your perfect cunt.
The rise and fall of his hips were sinful. He fucked you at a harsh, steady rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin blending in with the rustling wind.
You were filled with shame. You had brought Gojo to these woods to kill him, and instead, he was fucking you like an animal. And you were moaning like a slut.
“You’re so angry. Why?” Gojo whispered into your ear, his thrusts never slowing. “Did you just need a good fucking, baby? Is that it? Just needed someone to fuck you hard?”
“Please, Gojo,” you mumbled. “Please…”
Sweat was pooling across your forehead. His cock filled you up in ways you didn’t even think were possible, and with every thrust, you were becoming undone. He fucked away every thought, and every desire for anything that wasn’t his cock.
“Poor baby,” he cooed, followed by a groan of his own. “Just need someone to make you cum. Isn’t that right?”
“Please…” you said pathetically. “Please make me cum. I’m sorry…so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He released your wrists, gripping your hips.
“For trying to kill you. I-I’m so sorry, I can’t…Please let me cum, Gojo.” You babbled on and on.
“Such a good girl. Now was that so hard?” He smirked.
As his fingers pressed into your hips, he held you down, drilling his cock in and out of you. He didn’t bother holding back his own moans. He tossed his head back.
“Oh, fuck.” He moaned deliciously. “Take that dick and cum, baby. Cum on my cock. Cum on my fucking cock right now.”
And with that, and a few more thrusts, your juices squirted along his length. Your orgasm triggered his own. A wave of pleasure flooded him, his throbbing cock filled your insides with loads of his pearly cum. Your cunt felt amazing, squeezing him and milking him until his body was numb, arms trembling as broken moans escaped him. He truthfully never wanted to stop cumming, and his dick twitched and throbbed inside of you as it begged for more.
Even as he kissed you again, your tongues flicking against each other as you both moaned, he continued to cum into your pussy.
It took a minute for you both to catch your breaths. When he climbed off of you, you reached for your clothes. However, his hand grabbed yours, stopping your movements.
“Sorry, but we’re not done.” He stood up. Suddenly, his hand gripped the back of your head.
“I know you apologized, but I never said that I forgive you, baby.” As he gave his cock a few strokes, he lined his tip up with your awaiting mouth. “Suck my dick. When I cum, swallow it. Then, maybe, I’ll forgive you for trying to kill me. Alright?”
You nodded.
He shoved himself inside of your warm mouth, tossing his head back with a grunt. As he started to buck his hips, repeatedly moaning, “that’s it. Just like that, baby,” as he fucked your throat, you couldn’t help but rethink your old rules.
Holding your head still as he shot his load down your throat, keeping his cock in your mouth until you swallowed it all, you figured that, perhaps, you only needed to live by one rule.
Never try to kill Satoru Gojo.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!
♡ 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠, & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!
♡ “𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢” 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @imlevis // 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 & 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @danowh0re // 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞!
♡ 🏷: @skylark144 @staygoldsquatchling02 @robynnnhooddd @wen13 @hidansdarling @levistiddies @nanamochii
3K notes · View notes
earthtooz · 1 year
Text
fluff :p gn!reader, reader has a quirk, kissing cringe, not entirely proofread, lmk if there are other warnings
Tumblr media
the first time that bakugou katsuki was teased by the students of class 1-a, midoriya was shocked to his core. baffled. taken aback. astounded.
so imagine his shock when the bakugou katsuki chases after someone, rather than the other way around.
oh, midoriya is floored because when they were in middle school, the explosive blond would (literally) blow up any love confessions he received, ruining the beautifully decorated cards, and crumpling any boxes of chocolates that people would gift him. his reputation around school with romance was not great, but that did not seem to deter people. he had a good quirk, good looks, and good grades, a big three of requirements for a love interest, apparently.
even though bakugou did not know how to interact with anyone rather than giving them the stink eye.
it got to the point that bakugou seemed to not have an ounce of compassion or romantic urge within him, too in love with the grind to adore another.
then, you came along.
beautiful, powerful, talented you. graceful with your quirk, competent in the field, and loved by your classmates, it seemed like you had bakugou charmed too. 
midoriya noticed when the small things began happening, such as bakugou addressing you by your name rather than a ridiculous nickname, complimenting you- albeit gruffly, but nevertheless complimenting you, or even catching him looking at you during class. since you were seated across the room, it did not take a genius to know that bakugou was distracted from his studies, specifically because of you.
then, towards the end of first year, you officially become (dare i say) friends.
but the purely platonic vibe is never really there. you piss bakugou off to the point that he’s chasing you around campus, giggling at his empty threats as he catches you by the waist, holding you for a little too long. 
bakugou takes the initiative to be as close to you as possible; always settling for the seat beside you on the couch, tugging you by your shirt towards him when he deems you’ve strayed too far away, and letting you be the taste-tester for his meals.
you take the time to talk him through his temper tantrums, calming him with ease despite performing a task that midoriya thought was impossible. you’re patient with bakugou, mindful to give him space whilst not treating him like a child that has been banned from the candy jar. you handle him at his worse, despite all the metaphorical explosives in your face.
bakugou works you through your struggles. your quirk is not cooperating with you? he offers you solutions. struggling with classwork? just ask bakugou and he’s telling you to sit your ass down so he can explain to you what is happening. although, unlike how he treats kirishima, he bides and explains everything to you civilly until you understand, even when you’re frustrated by your own shortcomings.
bakugou’s chasing after you and he’s running, sprinting as fast as his legs might allow.
he asks his friends for advice, they all come up with nothing worthy of you, and he was not going to confess to you like those pussy ass middle schoolers. 
no, because where they looked at him like he was some sort of eye-candy; a prize to be won, he looks at you as if you’re his fucking limited edition all might card that he so desperately wanted signed. as materialistic as that sounds, that (stupidly cool) card is something he treasures, carefully laminated in a memory book where the card itself takes up a whole page of its own. 
he too looks at you with soft gazes, and a desire to keep you with him as long as you’ll allow. 
bakugou’s chasing after you and he’s using his explosions to increase his speed, wanting to close the distance in between.
but he skids to a halt one night. when the heart palpitations cease his rate completely, all the air is drained from his lungs, and the quivering of his limbs just stop, because you have just kissed him, on the balcony of his dorm, with the sun setting in the background.
he chases after you, knowing nothing but you, beautiful, powerful, talented you, as bakugou pulls you into a breathtaking kiss. 
his heart is now revived, yearning for nothing but you, the air has returned for him to share with you the magnitude of his adorations, and his limbs are frantically holding onto your face.
he realises now that this chase has never been one-sided, and that you have been running to meet him in the middle after all this time. 
midoriya is a little less shocked when he receives the news that you and bakugou katsuki are now dating.
7K notes · View notes
lxvvie · 7 months
Text
There's something about the way...
Price praises you. He encourages you to take the initiative even when he holds the reins. The battle-hardened bastard has seen so many amazing things in his life but nothing compares to the sight he sees as you succumb to yet another orgasm underneath him. And he'll do it again and again just to see you glow and come under his praises.
Gaz surprises you. Actions speak louder than words, and the man would much rather show you than he can tell you. And show you he does. You lost track of how many positions he's had you in and if you weren't so tired, you'd chuck a pillow at the cheeky bastard. You're pretty good, Gaz. Pretty. Good.
Soap worships you. You're like the fucking sun to him, something worth returning home to after every assignment. All the shit he's seen, you're a sight for sore eyes. Every flaw you think you have, he kisses it away. He'll always kiss it away. Your body is a sight to behold and he'll worship it every time.
Ghost excites you. He doesn't see how he does it, doesn't think he'll ever see it, but the intensity in his eyes, the purpose of every movement he makes, it excites you. The way he looks at you like he wants to devour you, the way he touches you even when it isn't sexual, god, it turns you on like no other. And even in the urgency of your lovemaking is Ghost still tender and considerate, everything he's always wanted but never had until you.
Alejandro soothes you. He knows all too well the pressures of life and leadership and would rather you be calmed by his touch than anything else. Every action, from the way his hands rove over your body to the words he whispers against your skin, blankets you like a soothing balm. You return the favor and you two find respite in each other's arms.
Rudy makes you laugh and makes you feel safe. He shows you how there can be humor even in passion. His quips are corny, yeah, but it suits him. And you'd have it no other way. Only Rudy can bring forth the deepest belly laughs from you while being buried deep inside you as well.
Phillip provokes you. He's a talented man through and through but the way he fucks brings out a primal need in you that you didn't realize existed. He fucks you like it's the last thing he'll ever do on this Earth and you respond with that same fervor every time.
Valeria captivates you. She is a woman who stares adversity and death in the eyes and tells them to go fuck themselves. Her presence can be felt even when she's not around and what she wants, she damn sure gets. This is what draws you to her, what has you yearning for more each and every time. And even in the midst of it all, when it's you two in the throes of sex is there a vulnerability that she doesn't dare show to anyone else, a side to her that's just as alluring as the badass you see and experience on a daily basis.
König embraces you. Because he himself wasn't embraced. Because he himself sought that same embrace. His frame, no matter how big, is comforting just the same. He's an interesting fellow with layers upon layers, each more surprising than the last it seems. Driven and focused on the battlefield, a nervous albeit eager and faithful mess outside of it. He more than makes up for it when he's with you and it's both a pity and blessing that no one, save you, experiences it.
Horangi tests you. The bastard lives life on the edge and it's no different when he's with you. The games he plays would infuriate anyone and you're pushed to the brink of orgasm and brought back every time. His fingers have you cursing and pleading with him to end your misery and let you cum―please, Horangi―but he doesn't relent. Not yet. He hasn't even gotten around to using his ace in the hole. Patience, baby.
2K notes · View notes
lady-griffin · 1 year
Text
Small Parallel I love with Knives Out and Glass Onion
Neither Harlan Thrombey nor Andi Brand are good people. They’re not. They’re also not evil people to be clear, but again, they’re not really good people.
By the kind of people his family and especially his children are, we get a sense of who Harlan is or largely was in his life, especially with the comment that there is so much of him in Ransom.
Andi was also clearly more than okay with both Birdie and Duke as not just acquaintances but close friends; as well as what other nonsense came out of Miles before “Klear,” and she was his business partner and friend.
She wasn’t some moral beacon of wholesomeness.
Her standard of good was – 
Let’s not put this very dangerous and unstable thing that hasn’t even come close to being properly tested out into the world, especially not under our company’s name; because we are not some daring startup company anymore, we’re an established conglomerate and this could easily sink us.
That’s not exactly a high bar of morality.
And that’s okay.
Really it is.
I like how neither movie truly idolizes Harlan or Andi to the point they are made out to be truly good people, BUT yet, we still see why Marta and Helen clearly loved and cared about these two and why their deaths matter.
Marta and Helen are our truly good souls for these movies. 
The two main groups of people - The Thrombeys and The Disruptors - are all various shades of the same kind of bad person for each movie.
The Thrombeys are all willing to live off Harlan’s hard work and they all believe they are entitled to his fortune because it’s their family right. It’s theirs. And once you peel back the layers of liberal or conservative, they’re all the same, because they’re all a bit more than willing to defend what they think is theirs, with knives out and teeth bared.
The Disruptors are somehow even more reliant on Miles than the Thrombeys were on Harlan (which is saying something); and they will cling onto him until they see his boat is doomed to sink. They literally know he killed two people; two of their so-called “friends” and they’re not willing to do anything. At least, not until Miles is truly fucked. 
They all care more about their own survival and ambitions than doing the right thing. And once more, when you peel back the layers of liberal or conservative, we once again see they’re all the same, they’re all more than willing to lie for a lie and stab a “friend” in the back.
But Harlan and Andi are our mixed bags of morality.
This is clear enough with the two types of people they are associated with.
The Thrombey Family and Marta.
The Disruptors and Helen. 
They’re kind of like an optical illusion, it really depends on how you look at them and what you see when it comes to their own morality. 
However, they do have two traits that I think redeem them for the audience, or at the very least make them more admirable to us.
They are genuinely self-made people.
Harlan was a brilliant murder mystery writer. He was. And he did build this publishing/franchise empire of his.
Andi was a brilliant mind who dabbled in many different things, but her real talent (as I saw it) was being able to spot a certain something-something in people. She saw the doers in the world, even when they weren’t quite there yet, she saw their potential to be the kind of person who others would notice and remember.
They were also both willing to stand by their values and once they made a decision, they would not be bullied into changing it. 
Harlan decided to cut off his family and was sticking by that. 
Andi decided to walk away from Miles and was sticking by that.
And I don’t know, I just like that little bit of extra moral complexity these two characters bring to these movies.
Oh, and Benoit Blanc is a good person, but he definitely isn’t governed by what the law or society says is good. He’s an eccentric who’s here for a good time, a fun and challenging mystery, and is more than willing to help out the good souls in the world when he gets the opportunity.
5K notes · View notes
Text
Girl dad Astarion who is mourning the times when his biggest problem was coming up with more or less child-friendly excuses to not read yet another bedtime story. Or to fix the dress of a shabby old doll that gave him the creeps. Or to kiss some scratches better, even though the minuscule wounds usually troubled him more than they did the damn child. 
Nobody ever told him that children grow up this fucking fast, okay?
But now he has to watch his darling little girl grow into a beautiful young woman, and he is—quite frankly—terrified for her. 
Because wherever he looks, he can see that strangers are watching her, too. 
It doesn’t even bother him that they notice his daughter’s beauty, no, you would have to be blind not to see it. She’s stunning—obviously. She's his child after all…and Tav’s, of course, but that’s not the point. 
It’s the way they're looking at the girl that disgusts Astarion to his very core. Leering eyes following her every move. Ulterior motives buried under layers of false niceties. Seemingly innocent little touches stolen as if those filthy hands were entitled to her body in any way. 
And for all their obnoxious gawking, they don’t even see her. They seldom care for his daughter’s talents, her sense of humour, or her intelligence. Her heart.
Those heads are only turning for a pretty face, and for all the small privileges that might afford her, they always come with a price—a price Astarion has paid once upon a time; a price he doesn’t ever want his daughter to even consider accepting.
But the world is not kind. It’s already leaving scratches on his child that neither he nor Tav can kiss better any longer. 
And Astarion hates it because the last time he felt this helpless was when his own pretty face was all that kept him, well, as alive as he could be. A thing to be used for other people's gain. Selling himself out for crumbs.
And then, one day, he notices a new bracelet on his daughter’s wrist. 
She happily hands it over to him so he can take a look. Then she tells him some stranger gifted it to her. Just like that! 
All they wanted for it was a little smile—isn’t that so great, father? 
It’s not. Far from it. Astarion is fuming inside. 
How dare some random nitwit think that ugly trinket worthy of his daughter’s wonderful smile? The audacity. The nerve. Unbelievable! 
“Darling, it’s not a gift if they’re expecting something in return,” a forced smile tugs at his lips, trying to soften his scolding tone.
It doesn’t work.
“But it’s so pretty, I had to have it!” 
The girl sulks, her little nose scrunched up as if he just sent her to bed without her fairy tales. Astarion supposes, in a way, he has.
“And what do we do when we see something we want, dear?” 
She rolls her eyes at him in a way that always has Tav cackling up. Maybe it's because, in moments like this, she looks a little too much like her father. 
“We just pocket it.”
“Exactly, my darling child, we just pocket it,” Astarion nods approvingly. “And if they ask for a smile next time?”
“We stab them,” she sighs.
“Absolutely, we do. Now, off with you, lest your daggers get all rusty, you lazy duck.” 
Ending the discussion with a gentle smile, Astarion watches the girl go before he produces the offending bracelet from his sleeve. 
It’s always out of sight, out of mind with pretty things, isn't it?
He takes another look at the bracelet, scrunching up his nose as if it gave off a particularly vile smell. In a way, it does.
In fact, it’s giving Astarion the creeps. And it's not even made from real gold, by the way.
Astarion scoffs at the cheap trinket. This child still has so much to learn.  
710 notes · View notes
kneelingshadowsalome · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
I Never Missed You 3/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)
Word count: 6.4 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)
Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.
A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Angst and smut and fluff (the holy trinity!) in this last part.
Part 1 Part 2
Juice spills all over the table from the oranges you press, but you don't mind. There has been a soft smile on your face all morning.
Simon's still sleeping, and you want to surprise him with a special breakfast today: scrambled eggs, freshly pressed orange juice, berries, and…
"You took my shirt."
You flinch when you hear his familiar rumble not a few feet away. The staircase wailed like a widow last night, but obviously, this man has learned to avoid the creaky spots when he wants. A goddamn heavyweight ninja...
"I'm sorry." You lick your fingers from the juice and try to feign innocence. The sleeves of his black tee reach your elbows, but you're not sorry. Nor do you feel bad about seeing him in your kitchen without a shirt.
"It was not an accusation," he says, the corner of his mouth curving a little, the dark eyes that made love to you last night giving you an approving once-over.
You approach him with a glass full of sun, but it's you he grabs in his hold. Your fingers find the scars on his back as you two embrace, and you feel an odd churn in your stomach.
"What's this…?"
Your hand floats across the embossed, white ridges that crisscross his back. The collection forms an entire mountain range, and it's chilling because you've only brushed the space between his shoulder blades.
"A reminder. To trust no one."
"No one…?"
"No one."
You remain a coward and refrain from asking for more details. You doubt he would even share them.
"I made you breakfast," you lower your gaze to the colorful palette you've gathered on the plates. Is it some sort of an instinct to want to feed a man after they've fucked you so good?
"So I see," he says, ever more approvingly. Then you're lifted on the table, next to the plates, like you're the breakfast.
Soon you're only wearing his shirt and your tiny socks, which Simon decides to leave on, too busy with getting his face between your legs. 
No one has done anything like that before… No one has chosen you over breakfast; an entire abundance of delicacies laid out. 
He licks you until your legs are trembling on that tortured back. You're pure, you're untouched by evil, and he carries your naivety on his shoulders like it weighs nothing. He flattens his tongue on you, sucks your flesh, tortures you on that table and doesn't even mind his teeth all too much. The peak stubble he hasn't yet shaved stings and burns as he moves across your folds. 
Saying that the coarse chin on your silk feels good would be an understatement. You come undone next to the breakfast, clad in golden light shining through the small window left uncovered.
You feel alive, and raw, and stellar. A shooting star, a comet high above the sky, although the space through which you ignite consists of golden rays of sunlight and the scent of orange juice. 
He takes the shirt back after he's done. After you're done and try your best to return back to earth with shaking legs. The only thing you're wearing is your socks, but you feel completely naked before him, dopey and dumb before the day has even started. Simon only licks his lips, throws that shirt on, and grabs his plate.
He dares to comment that there's no hot water. You put the kettle on with a wobble, feeling hotness on your cheeks while he sits down to eat his second breakfast like it's the most natural thing in the world: to wreck you first thing in the morning.
…............................
Simon.
He fixes the door on your fridge. He helps you clean your garage and fucks you on the table. Oily, dusty, filthy table. You go to shower after, together. You're giggling; he's smiling. Fully, now.
You want to ask him, Is this free of charge too…? Not just his cock... But his smiles. His assistance and support. The looks he grants you when you come out of the shower, ready to be licked to ruin.
He calls you his Princess to tease you just right. To get you in a state where your eyes flash with half-rage, half-lust, just before he slips inside you. He knows exactly which strings to pull – and then calls you love just when you're about to give him a piece of your mind.
You end up on the table, on the counter, on the floor. He takes you while your jaw slowly falls open from his audacity and his cock, splitting you apart with slow love. The first time he takes you in a missionary, you squirt. It's like his cock was made for you. And he dares to tease you about that, too.
"Did ya just squirt all over my cock?"
You have tears in your eyes, shame on your cheeks, and he's wetter than a wet dog down there… then he makes you squirt again, high on the lewd, obscene praise you just gave him with your pussy. 
Your cunt can't lie; he knows it by now. So it's futile to keep your lips sealed either.
Kiss me. 
That's what you would've usually ordered. But after an exceptionally quiet and passionate and desperate fuck that leaves you both catching your breath, leaves him hovering only inches from your sweaty upper lip, you whisper…
"I want to kiss you."
You expect him to laugh or mock you, at least crack a stupid joke or two. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes drop to your lips, and he swallows with a heavy roll, then closes the gap between you two. Covers your mouth with his, uses that strong jaw to open you for devouring.
The kiss lasts long enough for you to begin breathing through your nose. Your inner walls grip him, still buried deep inside, and the gusts of exhales passing through his nostrils hit your face with pure bliss. He’s a little breathless when he parts – withdraws just enough to look into your eyes.
“Will that do...?”
There is a drunken vigor in his eyes of crushed amber, but to your shock, you hear your own question laid out before you. The one you asked when you were going to that party.
Will I do…?
Your hands find his jaw and cup his face from both sides, drawing him back to your lips.
“Yes." 
You will more than just do. 
And then you say… 
"I want more.”
He chuckles a soft scoff on your face. 
"Greedy little thing." 
Then he swallows you again. You kiss for a good few minutes while he grows half-hard inside you. It's the most romantic kiss you have shared with anyone, ever. He tells you how spoiled you are between the breaths you both catch, then spoils you some more with his mouth and tongue and cock. 
You start to curl together in the evening. Just to watch a comedy. He massages your feet and smiles more every day. It's kind of domestic, how he wrinkles his nose at your fine white wine and asks what it is in that decanter you have in your study. When you say it's just some old bourbon, he goes and gets himself a glass like he's finally made himself at home. 
It makes your heart grow thick from love. You almost forget why he's here in the first place.
When you ask him about the plan, he explains it to you in detail while kissing his way down your ribs and navel. He takes his sweet time while doing it, kissing the inside of your thigh, the hollow place below the knee, the tender skin under the knee. He kisses your calf and the ankle bone while holding your leg up for his lips with just one hand. Then he does the same to your other leg, but this time, kisses his way from ankle to thigh until he reaches…
You.
You've forgotten half the plan by then because you realize Simon hasn't looked at you like you're a steak or garbage in a long, long time. 
He looks at you like you're a queen. You could say he worships you, but the thought alone makes your heart flutter with the anxiety of a fragile hummingbird. 
Simon gets you your groceries and gets himself only a beer as a reward. You would happily offer him a case if you knew it would make him happy.
But you don't really know what would make him happy. You don't know anything about this man. You know he likes it when you're dolled up and angry. He likes you when you're sleepy, without makeup, wearing only his shirt. He likes to fuck you from behind and hold you close after. He likes to give you a wash, likes it when you wash him. He likes to watch the two tall trees outside the window sway when there's a strong wind. 
"What makes you happy?" You ask one night after you've had him in your mouth.
"Blowjobs," he answers with a straight face, and you shove him in the shoulder. Nicely. Softly.
"No, for real."
"I dunno." He sighs and turns to stare at your ceiling with a bothered look. It's a tricky question, perhaps. Or weapons, not willingly gifted. 
"Dogs," he shrugs after a while. "A day of silence. Good whiskey."
He doesn't grant you weapons. You get some rope, but not enough to choke him with it. He trusts no one.
"Why don't you like missionary…?" You continue roasting him while curling your fingers around the pale hair on his chest.
"I never said I didn't like it."
"Don't avoid the question, Mr. Doggystyle."
You prop yourself up on your elbow and place your palm flat over his heart. His stare slowly drifts from the ceiling back to you.
"Simon. Why do you always fuck me from behind?" 
He raises his eyebrows like he's innocent of the crime he's being accused of. "Not always."
"Seriously, Simon."
The smug look returns; it gives his eyes a delightful little spark and tugs at the corner of that kissable mouth.
"I like your ass."
"But not my eyes?"
The smile dies, and he gulps down a short surprise, caught between truth and dare. But then his eyes settle like the calming sea under a full moon. Stern, but not remorseless. Bold, but not heartless. If anything, he's naked and bare.
"Darlin'. Love your eyes the most."
Your heart does a backflip. You've been a fool because what else has he done but search for your eyes first thing in the morning? Given you flashes of mischief over breakfast, made love to you with those eyes as you cum around his cock? That liquid fire and smoke hasn't left you since he stepped inside this house.
You breathe together; you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. There was a time when you thought this man was incapable of love, but now you fear he has never been allowed to love enough.
"We never talked, you know," you whisper. His heart swells underneath your palm like a sail.
"What'ya wanna talk about?"
"Us."
"So talk."
Walls are raised so quickly you feel them knocking the warmth out of your body. It's cold, it's Antarctic, the technique he uses to withdraw. Your room turns into a kingdom of ice from the cruel, emotionless indifference he emits. 
You've been a fool, yes... And a child.
"You're making it hard," you say, noticing how the man starts to tense up under your fingertips. This is not the way, but you're not smart enough to stop your rampage.
"What happens when you've done your job?"
He doesn't sigh. He doesn't even think twice before giving his answer.
"I go back to the base."
You know now why he's called a ghost. You wonder if he was ever even here. Simon becomes a reminder for you, a reminder to trust no one.
"...Right." You pull your hand away slowly. As if it somehow helps with the pain to pretend you haven't just touched a hot stove and ended up getting your fingers burned.
He notices how you tense up far more than he. The arm around your waist goes tight, and you wonder if you've always been a bloodied steak to this brute, a stupid little princess with your wines, sighs, and wet eyes. He just doesn't want to let go of the last bites of his fine, delicious meat.
"I never thought you wanted a relationship," he says with a hollow voice, and the red rage nearly blinds your sight. You're too riled up to even yell at him.
"Love…" he tries for the last time.
"Get out of my bed."
…............................
His musk still clings to you as you descend the stairs the next morning.
He's sitting at the end of the steps with hunched shoulders and a tense back, exiled into the man he was the first day you met him. Your heart bleeds from the sight, wondering whether Simon has waited there the whole night after you kicked him out of your bedroom. But the boiling bile in your stomach forces you to lift your chin and draw your shoulders back as you walk down those steps with an audible clatter as your heels clack across the parquet.
He must've heard you before you make a racket fitting for an angered queen, but rises only after you've made it halfway through the staircase. You won't allow yourself to even look his way as he draws a deep breath.
"Love. Sweetheart."
But with that, you flash the man a stare full of despise as you walk past him.
"Don't."
"Let me–"
"Don't say a word," you take a sharp turn and raise a hand to shield you from whatever brutality he would like to stain you with. "You don't talk to me. You just do your job. Ok?"
His chest swells with another deep breath, but otherwise, this man is still as a statue again.
"Ma'am."
It takes you a while to notice he has regressed back to that term again, and you tilt your head. The movement is that of a warrior who swings her sword to a guard before a fight. He crosses his hands over his crotch as if to shield the most vulnerable parts from a low blow, but his eyes are full of hateful hurt as he gives you his most pretentious, mocking tone.
"Miss."
Your heart skips a beat – Simon becomes the thing you miss. 
A hit and run.
You have to resist the urge to grimace at the pure venom in his voice - it doesn't matter what he calls you because that tone seeps straight through your skin like lye. It hurts; it burns to see him even more withdrawn to his shell than when you first met. He retreats far beyond the front line, he goes further than the rear, and it's a bitter defeat for both of you. 
This man has rubbed your feet while you've laughed at a stupid joke in a sitcom. The same man has been inside you – night after night after night. It rips your heart to see a distant, perfectly blank expression on his face after you've seen him give you a plentitude of relaxed and wicked little smiles. 
You share the breakfast in funeral-like silence. You wish you could pay him to stay home so that you can go through your day filled with terror and longing without Simon Riley following you around.
"I've been meaning to update you on new intel about the target," he breaks the silence, and your heart feels like it's being put through a wringer. Simon hasn't even touched his breakfast. "Turns out he received training in a sniper unit."
"So?"
"There's a high chance he might prefer to use long-range weapons."
He's professional, curt, clinical. Even more so than when you first shook hands with him. And all the while, those eyes burn you; they examine you like you're the most challenging puzzle he's ever tried to solve. He's cold as ice with his words and hot as hell with that stare. Those eyes seem to pierce your clothes, they even reach under your skin.
"Right," you say without giving him a single look back.
"We have to update our protocol asap."
Our…
We.
"The protocol…" you whisper and finally look up at him. His lips draw into a thin line as he sees how your walls crumble; they didn't last even half a day.
"Simon, I can't do this," you say, your voice breaking. The tears are only seconds away. They blur your sight, but as he rises from the table slowly and takes a hesitant step towards you, you turn your head back to your toast with a snap.
"I want to change bodyguards."
From the corner of your blurred vision, you see how he raises a hand. If you didn't know any better, you could say that he's at his weakest. But the hand falls straight back and gives a twitch by his side. You wonder why he even bothers to disguise the spasm so lousily as a stretch. It's as if he wants you to see that he's in tumult too.
"I'll stay until–"
"No. Get out."
"Miss. I'll just get my things," he says, and you nod briefly. No exchange of gazes is probably the best policy after informing him you no longer need his services. It's better to rip the band-aid off with one yank than try to pretend that this relationship was something more than sexual. 
You know he came to your house with minimal belongings, a duffel bag full of spare clothes and a large case which you supposed was a container for different weapons. That is why you notice he takes a surprisingly long time to get those things and leave your house.
When he finally emerges from his room – no, not his room, but the guest room, you remind yourself – he places the luggage in the hallway and comes back to you, probably to say his polite farewells.
"You won't let me speak to you, so I wrote you a fuckin' letter."
You turn to solid stone as he places an envelope between your water glass and cup of coffee. You sit with your heart thumping in your chest as he picks up his things, walks to the door, walks out of it and out of your life.
It's one of those moments you wish you could freeze and rewind. Do everything differently so that it wouldn't have to come to this. Instead, you listen how the front door clunks shut.
Then you send your trembling fingers up from your lap and onto the pure white thing that holds his secrets. You pry it open and find yourself reading the lines, scribbled with surprisingly sophisticated handwriting, through a round of hot tears.
They cloud your vision, but they don't cloud his words.
You skim through the letter in a frenzied hurry once, then again with more control, and try to remember how to breathe.
He shares shrivels from his past, ugly, horrid things which make your breakfast nearly push up your throat. He tells you he stopped dating eleven years ago for a reason. He writes that he would rather be tortured again than make you suffer from his past and incapacities.
There are certain lines that enter your heart like a thief with the most delicate crowbar. Lines like I'm not good with words and You must know by now that I'm a broken man.
Lines like I'm not a fucking poet but I'll miss your warmth even under the desert sun.
Some lines make you want to tear the letter to pieces. Lines such as Don't throw your diamonds in the dust and I can't give you what you deserve.
He thinks you can't take his darkness, so he shelters you from it. He says he would come back to you if he could. You don't know what the hell he means by that. 
If he could? 
What the fuck prevents him?
You sit inside your empty, lonely house, confident of the fact that it is not you who prevents it. It was not you who just sent him out that door. Who commanded him to leave because you didn't need his services anymore.
The letter makes you cry, and then it makes you boil.
Such sweet words, and so many empty sentences. If only, if I wasn't, if I could.
You get the feeling that he's mocking you again. If only you weren't a princess and a spoiled brat, then perhaps he could reconsider this relationship.
You leave the letter there; you leave your coffee and your breakfast. You almost wish someone would shoot you and put you out of your misery as you call a taxi and go to the heart of the city.
You're completely numb as your fingertips brush silk and linen and all the newest designs. They curl around tiny bottles of bright nail polish and touch the perfumes made from the last free wildflowers of a burning world, but you feel nothing stir inside.
You're emptier than the echo that rings through the malls and corridors of stone; you feel poorer than all the beggars on the street. Shopping always makes you feel better. But now you want to burn all your money, throw your jewels out the window, torch all the fucking stores like some bloody anarchist. You leave every store without buying a thing and try to remember what it was to have lunch without drowning in tears that can't be cried in public.
"I can't give you what you deserve."
That's the line that scalds you most. You know what he meant when he wrote those words, seemingly humble. But your bleeding heart twists that sentence until his words are a testimony of pure rejection.
You have money, so you don't deserve love, is that it?
You want to find him and shake him. It's not about what you deserve or what he deserves. It's not about what anyone deserves. And if the bloody man thinks he doesn't deserve love only because he's made his home in suffering, then he's the last person who should be allowed to decide who deserves what.
You walk through the crowds and streets like a small whirlwind, on the verge of yelling your heart and loneliness out in the air until your vocal cords are raw. You're so riled your mind doesn't even register the gunshot.
The only thing you hear is a glass shattering next to you just before an entire boulder hits you.
His scent envelops you like a safe, warm blanket, even if that blanket weighs a ton and causes your jeans to grate and tear as you two hit the asphalt. Simon gives you bruises, scrapes and burns all across your left side as your body grinds through the dirt. 
Another shot is fired; this time, a car's glass is shattered above you, and the body surrounding you tenses until you worry your bodyguard has been hit. The bodyguard you fired this morning, who's still doing his job, who never even left you…
People are screaming and running in different directions all around and above you, but time comes to a halt as Simon rises only an inch or two.
"Stay down," he gruffs in your ear. "Don't move. Don't you fucking move, ok?"
The whole world could've gone silent from the way you only hear his voice. His words. His distress. You remain still as a stone and look up at him – your lips part because he's looking at you with impatience that's not just pressing; it's demanding.
"Yes," you stutter, "yes, of course."
Someone's pissed because a third shot sends him right back over you, and only then do you notice you're clinging to him, to his jacket and his shirt, like he's a human shield. Then the human shield speaks again, and the words that come out only make you grip him tighter.
"He has to change the magazine soon. You stay right here, ok? I'm going in."
"No, don't," your fingers curl around his clothes and try to keep him on top of you. "Don't go. I'm afraid."
I'll get you a dog. 
A day of silence. 
I'll buy you some good whiskey. I promise…
"I'll be right back," he murmurs, more softly now. "I promise." 
Then he rips himself off you. Your body misses his heat like the desert sand must miss the sun, and you realize you've ruined everything as you finally get to watch him in his element. He's agile and beautiful as he reaches for his gun, takes it out, and prepares it in a few seconds to fire death upon your faceless enemy. You've ruined everything because if Simon goes in, he might get killed – he's a human, not a shield, he's not even a weapon – and all the things you never said will haunt you for the rest of your life.
"Don't leave me," you want to reach for him, but don't dare disobey his orders. It should send you laughing: that you're finally doing precisely as he says. You finally trust your life with him, just before he leaves you, leaves you, leaves you. 
"Simon–"
"Sweetheart. I never left you."
He looks straight into your eyes. You gulp the tears now.
"I'm so sorry," you whisper, and someone is screaming; everythings a buzz, cars whir by as you tell him all the things you meant to say weeks ago. "I never wanted you to go. I always liked you. I– I think I love–"
"Shh. Don't you do this to me now."
The words are so soft you have to struggle to hear what he's saying under his breath. It's like he's talking to himself, and you realize you're an asshole, saying things like that to him when he's trying to concentrate on his mission and his job. But you just can't help yourself sometimes. No one in your life compares to him. No one has caused such a ruckus, such turmoil, such devastation and such love.
"Do what?" you whimper there, motionless on the ground as he gives you a last, painful look before his stare fixes on the piece of glass still unshattered, the dim, transient mirror of a store window he uses to locate movement in one of the buildings. 
Then he takes a peek over the car, and you hold your breath – he's the bait now, and ducks his head immediately as two more shots are fired. You don't even have the strength to scream; your whole body simply shudders from the echoing sound of pure fear – how can he play tag with death like that? 
And then he leaves. 
He rounds the car and darts for the building and the sniper; he disappears from your vision so quickly you wonder if these past weeks have been but a dream.
A hit and run.
"Do what…" you repeat on the ground and curl into yourself even though he said you shouldn't move. You figure it's not that big of a crime to go into a fetal position when you don't know if he's ever coming back to scold you for breaking the rules.
You want to close your ears from the sounds that follow – you fear you'll jinx something if you listen too closely to what happens in that building. You try to concentrate on your breaths, slowly bringing you back to your body. You haven't even noticed that there's blood running down your arm.
It's funny how you only notice the pain after seeing the flowing crimson that makes small rivers around your fingers. You don't want to look at your burning shoulder because the shock is already here. 
The searing pulse gets worse as you hear another shot, then another shot. Those sounds pound inside your shoulder and send more fire down your arm. Minutes or hours pass and you think how strange it is that everything's completely still, how bizarre it is that there are no sirens, no cars, no screaming. They've finally closed off the roads.
You only start to cry when you see that he's alive.
You try to rise from the ground to meet him – a bleeding princess, waking from her beauty sleep and realizing everything's just been a bad dream, greeting her knight in a black pair of fitted tactical pants and a pistol on his waist. Diamonds and darkness…
He rushes to you in what seems like desperation. You find it oddly beautiful that he's not only relieved to see his client is still alive and well, he's also relieved to know you're still there. That his princess has waited for him.
He falls on his knees and prevents you from rising. You're quickly wrapped in his arms, feeling so happy and safe that you don't even bother to tell him you're injured. It's just a scratch anyway. Even if your leg was blown off, you wouldn't complain about being picked up in his lap like this. 
"Shh. I got you. I got you."
He's cradling you like a child while tears stream down your face, but there's no audible sounds of crying. You weep a whole river of tears and your nose is clogged, forcing you to breathe through your mouth, but there's no wailing, no screaming, no bawling. The first words that roll off your tongue are a child's moody complaint.
"You left me," you mope as he caresses your head.
"Only for a little while."
"You came back."
"I said I would."
More tears flow, and this time you sniffle and sob. He rocks you gently back and forth as you cry in his embrace. Simon would make a good father.
"Is he…?" You whisper, then look up at him. He just nods and gives you a quick scan, drawing a sharp breath when he notices the wound on your arm. 
You're placed back on the ground as he inspects your shoulder and tells you the bullet managed to scrape some skin but has mostly just ruined your jacket. You're almost sorry that the wound is not as severe as it feels. You thought the burning sensation meant shattered bones and scarred flesh, but the scratch is no deeper than if you had accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife.
"No, I don't want… No hospital," you beg as he offers to take you to ER. You're not spending the rest of the day in a frigid treatment room where tired medical personnel only clean the wound and put a big plaster on it. 
"Just take me home," you plead like you're his daughter who doesn't want to go to school today. "Please?"
"Sure. Whatever ya want."
He makes a few phone calls, arranges things with the local police or something. You don't want to know anything about it. You don't want to know who got shot in that building and how.
It's not a taxi that drives you back this time. You don't know where he got a car and a driver, but the vehicle is big and black, and your head is in Simon's lap when you lie in the backseat. There's a panel between the driver's seat and the rear, so you don't even know who's driving, but you're only grateful for the privacy after the crazy morning followed by a murder attempt. You look up at Simon, who looks back at you for the first time while you're in a car together.
"Why did you become a soldier?" You ask, not knowing why you're whispering. He's holding your hand – a simple, wholesome thing to do, but his grip on you is solid and warm and feels equally as intimate as the times this man has been inside you. 
"I wanted to help people." 
"By killing them?"
"By saving those I can."
He keeps a hand on your cheek too. Simon has spoken softly ever since you were fired at, has been humane and caring and tender, and you realize… This man is naked before you; he's stripped bare from all pretenses. 
And he's not darkness. He's not a skeleton or a dead man or even a soldier.
He's a beacon in the night.
"You did a good job," you squeeze his hand softly.
The last glass-like veil in his eyes shatters, but far more softly than those windows shot at with a rifle.
"I live to serve, Ma'am...–Miss."
"Don’t… Simon, please don’t call me a–"
He descends. He doesn't need that hand to lift your chin up to meet him in a kiss. It's not a hungry devouring this time, but a soft promise, a lover's seal. You feel the rest of the shock leave your body in his embrace. There's no more coldness, only a fragile burning.
"You never look me in the eyes," you whisper as a tear escapes from the corner of your eye. It's a silly thing to say when he looks at you with all the love in the world.
"Yes I do," he gives you a soft brush of a thumb across your cheek. His lips are right there, an inch away from yours. "How could you have missed that?"
He's right, as always. The dark love almost swallows the brown of his eyes as he looks at you, shining light on you as he has shined for days, for weeks now. How could you have missed that, indeed? You raise a hand to cup his cheek, not caring about the pain, not even mourning that your blood stains his chin. He doesn't seem to mind at all, so why would you?
When you arrive at your house, he drives away the loneliness, sorrow, everything a rich girl can fear by carrying you in his arms, stepping over the threshold with you like you two are married now.
He peels your jacket off with affection and tenderness, tends to your wound and wipes away the blood that has caked dry all over your arm. The gash has bled a lot for such a small wound, and you purse your lips from how accurately it reflects your feelings for him.
He ties the wound, checks at least two times he's not tying it too tight. His care breaks your heart, because you don't know whether he will leave you after this. There's nothing that keeps him here anymore – there's no way you can keep Simon Riley to yourself. So you abandon him first for the second time, ascend the stairs to your lonely domain while he cleans up the small mess in the bathroom.
It's a small miracle that he follows you. He opens the door to your room without knocking – not because he's entitled to your privacy, but because there are no more barriers between you two. You're gathered in a stout embrace for the second time this afternoon, and you wrap your arms around him to hold him closer.
"You'll leave me soon," you speak to the wall before you, to the man behind you, holding you so gently against his chest. "I'll miss you."
"Love," he murmurs behind you, you feel the words against your back as a warm rumble. "I'll come back. If you want me, I'll come back to you."
"You will…?"
"I promise."
You have no more tears to cry, so you settle for examining the stab inside your heart, the wound that will bleed you dry if no one ties it tightly enough. 
"I don't believe you."
"It's not a matter of whether you believe me."
He turns you around and lets you bathe in his warmth again, the same golden light that came through the window when he placed his mouth on you in the kitchen. It's almost frightening to know that there's nothing that can keep him from you. Nothing, except you. The only thing that has stood between you was only and ever pride.
"Simon," you breathe, a soft attempt to introduce him to mercy. "It's not a matter of what we deserve."
He blinks a few times, the chest against your side collapses a little. It's a hard reset. The corner of his mouth tugs, a beautiful betrayal of his surrender, a sign of being hit by a boulder – your boulder, finally bringing the rest of those walls down.
"You think so...?"
"Yes. I think so."
He brushes his knuckles across your sternum – a familiar motion that always manages to lift your heart. You used to think it was foreplay when it was in truth, an attempt to touch the organ said to be the house of love.
You think about the times his harsh breaths have hit you just before he cums, the urgent praise he's peppered you with merely seconds before you've cried from pleasure. Can't get enough of you pet, you’re fucking perfect, 'm gonna make you cum, sing for me, just like that... 
You always thought it was a catalogue of shallow lust when it was an offering of naked devotion. 
He was as vulnerable as you when you drifted through space together, when you drowned in his stunning midnight sea. He was catching fire and burning too, again and again until you were both satisfied and sweaty. He always held you close after, panted desperate love on your skin, planted kisses on your collarbones and neck before resting his head on your heart. Settling there, over your pulse, like he had finally found his way home…
The hand glides between your breasts and molds itself over your waist. It fits there like a second skin. You're relatively sure his hands were made for holding you. 
"You asked what makes me happy," he says, completely naked and bare. The heavy love surrounds you with warm safety; your breath flows freely as you await his confession, the last secret revealed. "I think you know, love."
You know. It has finally dawned on you. What you didn't know was that tears of hope could feel like fire too. You've never been more eager to burn.
"Now keep those pretty eyes on me."
2K notes · View notes
mrsdarkandyandere7 · 2 months
Text
❤ Yandere Hater ❤
Tumblr media
▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.
More at Masterlist
Female reader
WARNINGS: Incel vibes; Hate; Noncon (in his imagination cause he's delulu).
--
◾ Yandere!Hater who fucking hates your guts. Frankly doesn’t understand all the hype surrounding you.
You’re mediocre, at best. Nothing that special about you so he fails to understand why you’re getting increasingly popular these days.
You're not intelligent. You’re not talented. You’re not funny.
Heck, you’re not even that pretty.
Fuck, you’re actually nothing interesting. 
Just another brainless bimbo on her 5 minutes of fame. 
◾ Yandere!Hater that spends hours scrolling your social media, spamming your posts with countless mean comments, hoping you see them. You deserve them and he hopes you cry reading them. Worthless bitch.
Acting all sweet and delicate in front of cameras, but he knows better. You’re just another stuck-up assed girl.
Probably feeding on attention and money while being a slut to every rich guy that you get a chance to meet. 
◾ Yandere!Hater who runs an online account - dedicated to you, obviously - where he venomously spreads hate against you. It’s his little safe-haven, where he gets to expose your fake ass to the world.
Actively targets and attacks anyone that dares leave those disgustingly cute supportive comments under your posts. Gets involved in so many Discord and Twitter arguments that he’s lost count on how many times his account has been banned.
It’s not his fault that your fans are stupid simps. 
◾ Yandere!Hater who thinks the absolute worst about you. You’re an ugly arrogant bitch.  But that doesn’t stop him from rubbing one off while his eyes are glued to that Instagram photo you recently uploaded - you’re at the beach, a huge smile on your face and your body only covered by the skimpy tiny bikini. 
He furiously touches himself at the sight, imagination drifting towards a scenario where he runs into you at the beach.
You’ve briefly mentioned in an interview about your fear of the ocean, never having learned how to swim. Dumb you. 
So he thinks about your plastic smile quickly disappearing as his hand grabs you by the hair, violently dragging towards the water. You seem pretty weak, especially given he has a strong toned body when compared to yours. 
His cock twitches at the thought of you desperately fighting, begging him with tears shining in your eyes. He’d tame you rather easily, a mean slap or two making you shut up.
He’d pull you into the water, ignoring you as you hyperventilate. Push you to the deepest parts of the sea, the ones where only his feet are able to reach, forcing you to cling on to his shoulders for dear life.
You’d cry and whimper, begging him to take you back to the sand. 
But he’d only smile, slipping your bottom off - uncaring of the fact that the waves take away the thin piece of fabric.
So what if everyone sees you half-naked when you get back on land? You’re a slut and everyone should know that. 
◾ Yandere!Hater who almost cums at the thought of telling you to ride him - right there on the water - or otherwise he’d just drop you in the water.
Your choice.
You can either ride him quietly as he holds your ass with a tight grip or you can find out how to swim for yourself. He closes his eyes, relishing the climax that runs over him, imagining it’s your tight pussy that brought him to his orgasm, his cum dumped deep in your little cunt. 
◾ Yandere!Hater who pretends like this was one rare occasion that won’t happen again but day after day, he finds himself with a hand down his pants, abusing his cock while imagining fucking you in the most degrading ways that exist. 
◾ Yandere!Hater that gets more and more spiteful of you, which leads to a few disastrous encounters with you in public - only possible thanks to his network of connections with paparazzi - finding you as you go out with friends.
Encounters those that end with him being wrestled away from you by the buffy bodyguards that work for you, while you cower behind your friends, who weakly try protecting you from the eyes of the lunatic who just tried to drag you into his car. 
◾ Yandere!Hater that promises himself to do humanity a favor and take you away from the spotlight, maybe a place in his basement is more appropriate for you.
Tumblr media
802 notes · View notes